And Yet The Sun Shines
by Forever Sunday
Summary: No matter how desperately Miraleth longed to stay in her forests of Imladris, where the sun shined and the grass grew, the War of the One Ring seemed determined to tear her away. Legolas/OC
1. Prologue & Chapter 1

**A/N:**** I've been typing this story up for a while pretty much out of boredom because it's summer and I don't have a car or a job. (But I have a laptop, whee!) I never particularly had any plans for it, but after I had a few chapters written it started feeling a little pointless since I was writing it and didn't have anyone else's thoughts on it since no one was reading it.  
I'm not really sure where I'm going with it yet, but I thought I'd publish a little bit here so I could get some feedback.  
Knock yourselves out with that charming little review button. c:  
**

* * *

Miraleth was the last daughter and child to be born of Celebrian of Lothlórien and Elrond of Rivendell. Like her two brothers and sister, she had inherited her father's dark hair, which grew to fall in curls down her back, clear, gray eyes the color of rain, and an uncanny sense of her surroundings. But her smile…she had her mother's smile, lovely and sparkling.

And from the moment she was born, she was loved dearly. Her brothers had already begun planning her fighting lessons and spoke of how they were going to scare all the suitors away when she came of age—because there were going to be suitors, Celebrian could promise that much. Elrond scolded his sons, but it would hardly do any good. When Elrohir and Elladan were determined, there wasn't much they couldn't do. They had taught Arwen how to wield a blade as soon as she could hold one, and Elrond didn't doubt they were going to teach Miraleth even earlier.

For a number of years, Miraleth not only grew, but flourished in her lively city of Rivendell. Her mother took her riding, her father taught her from texts of elf, man, dwarf, and hobbit alike. Her sister taught her to listen to the trees and her brothers taught her how to hold a bow and hide daggers in the silken folds of her gowns.

But she didn't learn about danger until the fall of her mother. The rise of the orcs had come during her 900th year and with it, attacks on lone travelers passing through the vast wilderness. She remembered Elrohir and Elladan galloping out of Imladris on Elrond's fastest horses to Caradhras Pass with her father's urgent yelling. _"Ride with haste! Ride fast!" _She remembered her mother being rushed up to her bed—she remembered the pasty white of her skin, the circles under her eyes, the purple of her veins. She remembered the sickness. The poison. Yes, her mother had healed, but she had never been the same. She had forgotten how to laugh, and how to smile, and how to love her children. It was almost as if she had left some crucial part of herself back in the cruel mountains of Caradhras Pass.

Hardly a year had passed before she left for the Grey Havens. There was a ship waiting to take her to the West. They would see each other again though, she said. They would meet again in Valinor after the end of all things, after Miraleth learned to see with her heart, mind, and soul instead of with her eyes.

Miraleth had not thought to find out exactly what that meant.

And years later, she would pay for it.

* * *

It started with the hobbit.

Her Sight had never been so strong and it scared her half to death the first time she had brushed his skin. She had been there with her father healing the halfling and as she ran a rag over his forehead, her skin had brushed his—the tinest bit, the tiniest square millimeter, but it was enough for her to suddenly be somewhere else.

—_There was a face—whose face?_ _Whose face?_

_ A dark mass traveling quickly across the skies._

_ A burning place that looked like Isengard, monstrous forms on fire. _

_ Another face. _

_ More faces._

_ Dead faces. _

_ A ring. Golden. Elvish engraved in flame along the insides. _

_**The One Ring.—**_

She had fallen back off her feet, her eyes rolling back into her head. Arwen told her she had broken out in a feverish sweat, trembling and shivering like a mortal on the brink of death. Elrohir had picked her up like a babe, taken her to her own room, and held her until the tremors subsided, smoothing her curls and murmuring nonsense about the smell of the soil in spring and the frostberries in winter.

_ "The One Ring,"_ she had gasped when she could speak again. _"The hobbit brings the One Ring." _

Once the hobbit was healed, Miraleth settled herself into a cushioned chair across from his bed and waited the days away until he awoke, leaving only to eat and sleep, trying her best to ignore the golden ring on the bedside table.

It whispered to her. It murmured her name. _Miraleth._ Like a scorned lover it begged to be held, to be worn. To be satisfied and powerful once more. She covered it with a dark blanket when the whispers turned into insistent mutters that wormed their way into her mind.

She was still sitting, staring, waiting, when Galdalf came in. "_Mithrandir._" She greeted coolly.

"Miraleth. How lovely to see you. It's been too long." Gandalf ignored her cool air and smiled warmly, his ageless eyes twinkling.

Miraleth glared at him. "Leave me be, I'm angry."

"But why would you be angry, my dear? I always see such happiness on your face."

"Do not do that."

"What?"

"_That._ That _thing_ where you pretend to be an innocent old man." She muttered irritably. "Why would you send that thing here?" She pointed to the bedside table, where the dark blanket was still piled over the Ring.

Gandalf's face fell slightly and he went to take a seat by the hobbit's bedside. He whistled a tune as he pulled out his faithful, wooden pipe and lit it. He took a long drag on the end and smoke spilled from his lips. His eyes fell on the hobbit, who moaned and fidgeted in his sleep. The Nazgûl wound was never going to fully heal. "There was no other choice."

"Wasn't there? Somewhere. Anywhere. _My home, _Gandalf. Why?" She clenched the silk of her gown in her fists.

Galdalf gazed at her, his eyebrows raised. "These are dark times we are entering. Nowhere is safe. Where would I have brought it?" He puffed on his pipe. "To the kingdoms of Men? Where the Ring would have manipulated them to the point of destruction?"

She stayed quiet. Nearly 1,500 years old and an old man still managed to make her feel like a mere child.

Gandalf smiled. "In some ways you are a child."

"Do not do that either."

He guffawed. "In any case, my dear, dark times are approaching." He paused. "You've Seen it."

Her eyes snapped to his face. "What have I Seen?" This time it was Gandalf who didn't answer. "Gandalf, please. What have I Seen?" She was desperate for answers. Her Sight had always been stronger than any of her siblings', but it had never shown her anything as clearly as when she had touched the hobbit. Since that day her dreams had been riddled with things that were yet to come. Horrid things.

"You've been gifted very fortunately. Or unfortunately, some might say."

Just as Miraleth was about snap at Gandalf that perhaps he was the only one who appreciated the riddles he spoke in, the small form in the bed stirred. The hobbit's brow creased and he breathed a bit heavier. "Where am I?"

Gandalf leaned back in his chair and puffed on his pipe. "You are in the House of Elrond. And it is ten o'clock in the morning, on October the 24th, if you want to know."

The hobbit opened his eyes and stared at the wizard. "Gandalf!"

"Yes, I am here. And you're lucky to be here, too. A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid." He scolded before smiling, his eyes wrinkling. "But you had some strength in you, mighty hobbit."

The hobbit gingerly sat up in bed, one hand cradling his hurt shoulder. Elrond himself had healed the wound, but it still caused the poor thing considerable pain. Miraleth was astounded that he was awake at all. The hobbit looked at Gandalf, accusation and abandonment in his eyes. "What happened, Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?"

"Oh, I am sorry, Frodo." Frodo. The hobbit had a name. Gandalf paused for a moment, his eyes sad as he tried to think of something to say. "I was delayed." Delayed, yes. Delayed, attacked, betrayed by a close friend and ally. Miraleth had Seen it.

"Gandalf? What is it?" Frodo's face was worried when Gandalf stayed quiet, his mind elsewhere.

The old wizard tightened his lips and shook his head. "Nothing, Frodo."

Miraleth's lips parted. "You're not going to tell him." She accused quietly as the realization dawned on her.

"Miraleth," Gandalf warned. "Not now."

Frodo looked between Gandalf and Miraleth, waiting for an explanation. "Tell me what?"

"Ah," Gandalf brightened, thankful for the change in topic. "Frodo, this is Miraleth, daughter of Elrond. One of your gracious hosts. She and her siblings helped Elrond to heal you. You owe her your life."

_What you owe me is my sleep back, _Miraleth thought irritably.

"Oh." Frodo looked at her, his wide eyes lingering on her pointed ears. "Hello. It's…it's nice to meet you."

Miraleth ignored his greeting, jumping straight to the point. "You have brought great evil with you, little hobbit." Her eyes wandered from Frodo's face to the bedside table, where the Ring lay buried underneath the blanket. As soon as she did so, Frodo quickly reached over and yanked the Ring out from under the blanket and slipped the chain around his neck. His breathing calmed and a sense of tranquility came over his face. Miraleth stood abruptly, watching him. "You best leave that thing on the table, Frodo." She warned.

Before he could respond there was a cry of his name and a red-haired hobbit rushed into the room, followed by Miraleth's father. "Frodo!"

"Sam!" Frodo smiled, reaching for his friend's arm.

Miraleth's father laid a hand on her shoulder. "I hope you did not give him too hard a time when he awoke." He spoke quietly as to not interrupt the happy reunification of the young hobbits.

"I didn't—really, I didn't. But…the way he is so comfortable with that thing around his neck frightens me." She murmured. Elrond only squeezed her shoulder in comfort.

"Run and find Elrohir and Elladan. Your brothers have missed you."

"Yes, _Ada_." She turned to leave.

"And Miraleth?" Elrond called quietly and she glanced back in the doorway. Elrond feared for his youngest daughter. The Valar were cruel to burden her with such Sight so young, and in such dark times as these. Of all the elves in Imladris, Miraleth was one of the happiest, one of the sweetest. Her smiles were always the first thing Elrohir and Elladan wanted to see when they returned home from a long journey. The last thing Elrond wanted was for her to end up as Galadriel had; wicked in her power and cruel in her knowledge. "Do not be frightened. There is always safety here."

"Yes, _Ada_." She nodded and swept off.

Yes. Elrond feared for his youngest daughter's future.

* * *

Miraleth hadn't been able to find her brothers. One of Arwen's handmaidens informed her they had gone to hunt—Rivendell was expecting company, and with company came an opportunity to feast. After wandering around for a bit looking for Arwen (though she had a pretty good feeling where she was—spending some "quality time" with Elessar, whose mortality had never dulled Arwen's love for him.) she caught sight of a familiar gray cloak. "Gandalf!" She called. "Gandalf!"

"Hello, Miraleth," He called over his shoulder. "Be quick, I'm going to speak with your father. What do you need?"

"You didn't tell Frodo why you didn't meet him in Bree. You didn't tell him about Saruman." Miraleth accused.

"I don't remember telling you about it either." Gandalf's voice was gruff.

Miraleth's eyes narrowed at him. "I've Seen it." She breathed, throwing earlier words of his back at him.

Gandalf had no clever response for that. "He did not need to know, Lady Miraleth of Imladris, and it is not your place to tell him."

"He did need to know. What is he going to do once he finds out you're keeping things from him?"

"It was for his own good!"

"You are trying to protect him, Gandalf, but you have already given him the One Ring. There's no protecting him from that. There's no protecting him from much of anything anymore." Miraleth looked back towards Frodo's rooms and lowered her voice. "His future is dark, _Mithrandir._"

"Yes." Gandalf agreed. "But he is strong. I trust him with the Ring."

"You trust a hobbit with such power?"

"I trust Frodo with my life." Gandalf declared and turned to leave. He hesitated after a few steps, and turned back to glance at her. He huffed out a little sigh. "Alas, you always have kept me grounded, Miraleth. You worry for Frodo?"

"I fear for him." She quietly voiced.

"Yes, yes, you are right to do so." Gandalf paused. "Perhaps giving young Frodo the Ring was…not one of my finest decisions. Perhaps I have endangered him. But I would not have dared to take it myself."

"There was no one else." It was a statement, not a question, and somewhere deep in her mind Miraleth knew it to be true.

Gandalf's face was solemn. "There was no one else."


	2. Chapter 2

"Found her!" Someone cried distantly and Miraleth suddenly found herself on the ground in the arms of someone much bigger than she.

"Agh! Get off!" She shrieked and lost her grip on the silver arrow nocked in her bow as she fell. It flew from the bow and embedded itself in the ground less than a foot from her face. Just as the first pair of arms loosened, another came and got her from the other side. "Stupid children, both of you! Get off!" She yelled.

"No, no. I'm quite comfortable." Elladan's arms tightened around her. "How about you, Elrohir?"

"Yes, I rather like this. Too long on horseback deprives you from things like catching your sister off guard." He agreed.

"Would. You. _Morons._ Please. Get. Off." Miraleth's voice was muffled by Elrohir's chest. "Can't. Breathe."

Elrohir and Elladan let her up but kept their arms tightly around her small frame. "Come on now, don't be so upset. Didn't you miss us?" Elrohir grinned. "We missed you."

"Yes, yes, I missed you…" Miraleth muttered. "Now get off."

"Mmmm, not until we see that smile." Elladan chuckled. "Please? For your favorite brothers?"

"My only brothers."

"But your favorite nonetheless."

Miraleth looked at them. After a couple seconds her pout broke and her lips parted in a grin. She laughed. "I was looking for you two earlier but you had gone. I'm supposed to be angry with you both."

"Ah, there it is!" Elrohir grinned and they let her go. "We didn't want to go into the hobbit's room to say goodbye to you. Between Bilbo and the other three Aragorn brought with him, Rivendell is being overrun."

"How kind you are towards Shirefolk." Miraleth teased and began to walk with them off the training grounds. She saw Elladan pick up her bow and quiver of arrows for her out of the corner of her eye. "Why did you go hunt? Who are we expecting?"

Her brothers' faces grew solemn. "Father's called a council." Elrohir said. "Men, Dwarves, Elves, Bilbo and Frodo, and Gandalf."

Miraleth frowned. "Why has he called a council? Why wasn't I told?"

The two brothers exchanged glances before Elrohir looked down at his sister. He knew she was frightened of the Ring, but she wouldn't speak to him for months if he lied to her. "To discuss the One Ring. Something must be done with it. Father won't allow it to stay in Imladris, especially not if Sauron and Saruman are both coming for it. We have not the strength to protect it anymore."

"And you weren't told," Elladan picked up his brothers words. "Because you are not invited."

Miraleth stopped in her tracks, astounded. "What? What does that mean? What do you mean I'm not invited?"

"Don't, Miraleth…" Elladan placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's not for you to worry about. Arwen won't be attending either."

"But I want to go. I'm the one who's been Seeing all that has to do with the Ring, I deserve to go!"

"No." Elrohir's voice was firm.

"But—"

"I said no, Miraleth." He remained steadfast. "You are not going. You are not getting caught up in this mess."

"It's for your own good." Elladan agreed.

Miraleth crossed her arms and glared at them. "That's fine then. I'll find out what happens anyways."

Elrohir looked at Elladan. "She's right, Legolas will probably tell her all about it." He muttered.

Miraleth stared at him. "Legolas? Legolas will be there?"

"Of course he is, Thranduil's heir wouldn't sit by on the sidelines, and you know Legolas…"

"Legolas is here? In Imladris, and no one cared to notify me?" Miraleth was running off before she finished speaking, not waiting for her brother's response.

Elladan watched her run off. "I'll just put your bow in your rooms then!" He called after her. When she didn't make any response he lowered his voice. "Think we should go along and make sure Legolas doesn't lay a hand on our sister?"

Elrohir watched her run. "No, no. I think I trust them alone. Besides if they had any thoughts for each other they'd be betrothed already. A thousand years is long enough to figure something like that out, don't you think?" He paused for a moment, thinking. "Right? Damn. Don't put thoughts into my mind; I would hate to have to tear such a close friend apart."

* * *

Legolas was in the stables tending to his tired horse when Miraleth found him. "Legolas!" She called and he turned just in time to catch her in his arms. He lifted her up and twirled her around before setting her back down on her feet.

"_Mae Govannen, Miraleth."_ He laughed and held his friend's arms out to look her up and down."Look at you, you've grown!" He teased. Miraleth, while still tall and willowy, was a bit on the shorter side compared to the other elleths in Imladris. She made herself graceful all the same, though.

"Don't tease me," She laughed, her smile lighting up the stables. "I've missed you. _Nae saian luume'._"

"Mirkwood has missed your loveliness as well, my lady." Legolas grinned and offered her his arm before leading her out of the stables and towards the main house. "Imladris is selfish to keep you all to herself."

She grinned. "You've seen my brothers already?"

"Not yet."

"How rude of them. They were the ones who told me you had arrived."

"Where are they?"

"Not sure. Probably running about causing mischief."

"Sounds like them."

Miraleth nodded once before nonchalantly changing the topic. "So you are to attend my father's council tomorrow?"

"Ah, there it is." Legolas chuckled. "Knew you were going to ask."

"Can you blame me?" Miraleth asked, eyes twinkling. "I haven't been invited."

Legolas shook his head. "I'm not going to tell you this time. Elrond hasn't invited you for a reason."

"Well that's why he invited you! So you could tell me all about it!"

"I think not." Legolas smiled wryly. "Is Aragorn here? I'd like to see him."

"He's here, but I don't think you want to see him. He's…otherwise preoccupied."

Legolas gave her a confused look.

"He hasn't seen my sister in a very long while. They're making up for lost time." Miraleth informed him, trying to hint at what she meant the best she could. Legolas was one of her closest friends, but he was one of the most naïve beings she'd ever met in her life.

"Ah. I see." He nodded and gave her a strange glance. "I think."

Miraleth sighed. "Really, Legolas. It's a wonder the elleths of Mirkwood haven't chewed you up and spit you back out already."

* * *

"Hurry, Miraleth. It won't do to be late." Elrohir called into his sister's rooms. He and Elladan exchanged glances and rolled their eyes.

"I know it won't." She replied as she appeared in the doorway, slipping a long, thin dagger into one of the folds of her gown.

"There you are, that took you long enough. Good to know you're still carrying that thing ar—_Miraleth!" _Elrohir's eyes widened to the size of saucers.

"You look absolutely freezing, sister, have my cloak!" Elladan frantically rushed to her side and wrapped his cloak around her, fastening it below her chin. "There you go, that's better."

"But you might want to run back inside and grab a nice blanket. You might get a chill. Here, I'll get one for you!"

Miraleth was not amused, and she threw her arm up, barring Elrohir from her rooms. "It's quite warm outside, thank you. Here Elladan, have your cloak back." She unfastened it and tossed it back into his arms. "You two are unbelievable."

"What's unbelievable is that gown; who did you get it from?" Elrohir interrogated as he and his brother caught up to her down the hall.

She didn't even glance at him. "The tailor, whom I get all my gowns from."

"And who approved it?"

"Funny, I don't ever remember having to get my clothes approved before."

"_I _don't ever remember you wearing something that needed approving." Elrohir gingerly picked up a silken sleeve before dropping it. "I think the tailor made a mistake. He seemed to have placed all the fabric that covers the chest in the sleeves. And there seems to be a rather large hole in the back. We must ask him to fix it, Elladan."

Miraleth frowned at her brothers. "You'll do no such thing. Arwen was the one that asked him to make it for me. If you go to anyone, go to her."

"Perhaps we shall." Elladan muttered. Leave it to Arwen to make his job of protecting their youngest sister that much harder. What was she trying to do, attract every tall, strong, handsome elf in Middle-Earth to whisk her away from them?

Miraleth ignored her brothers' bickering over her gown and let her eyes sweep over the various roads leading to the Hall. She had since grown used to the beauty of Rivendell, but the amazed, dazzled wide-eyed faces of guests traveling along the roads to the Hall reminded her that it had taken her quite a number of years.

Such guests included a group of men who were so taken by Rivendell's landscape they nearly walked straight into Miraleth and her brothers. The leader of the group noticed the three elves just in time and reached out to keep one of his companions from bumping into Elladan. He bowed his head in mutual, wordless acknowledgement to Elrohir and Elladan, but suddenly straightened and moved forward at the sight of Miraleth nestled between her two brothers.

The man stopped in front of her. "My lady," he reached for her hand and bowed down to bring it to his lips. Perhaps it was just Miraleth who thought he kept it there longer than necessary. "What a lucky man I am to have my night blessed so by your beauty." He spoke in the common tongue.

Miraleth could feel Elrohir and Elladan bristle at her sides. "Lucky indeed," Elrohir murmured in Sindarin. The man gave him a look and clearly did not understand him, but Elrohir's tone of voice offered the man a clear warning.

Miraleth studied the man before her, and her cheery smile faded. She had Seen him before in her dreams. "You flatter me, Boromir, son of Denethor." She spoke carefully. She had Seen him, and she had Seen the things he was capable of. Her Sight had not been specific about his deeds, but it had given her enough of a feeling to send chills down her back when he raised his eyes to hers. She gently pulled her hand out of his grasp. "I trust you're enjoying Imladris?"

"Very much. Your home is very beautiful." He straightened up, sensing the tension in the air. "Well…I must be on my way." He smiled charmingly, breaking the tension. "Until next time, my lady."

Her lips shaped themselves into a small smile as she relaxed a bit. "Until next time, son of Denethor."

He jerked his chin towards his group of fellow men and they obediently followed him down the path, every so often casting glances back at the three elves.

"What was that about?" Elladan asked Miraleth. His sister had never been the sort to be so tense with strangers. Rather, she cast them lovely smiles and treated them as if she had known them for years.

She lightly shook her head, still watching the men go. "It was nothing. A bad feeling, that's all."

"Yes, well, I don't blame you." Elrohir placed a hand on the small of Miraleth's back and gently pushed her to continue walking, his dark gaze never leaving the group of men whose laughter grew faint with the increasing distance. "Boromir's father sent him to take the One Ring for Gondor. Power-crazed, bitter old man, Denethor. He often mistakes his stewardship over Gondor for kingship."

Miraleth's voice was soft. "We were once friends with Gondor."

Elladan squeezed her shoulder. "We were once friends with Men."

* * *

Upon reaching the Hall and entering through the massive doors, Miraleth's mood was instantly lifted. The fires, the food, the drink, the laughter, the joy in the air; it all spoke to her like an old friend. There was happiness here, and she welcomed it. Two of Frodo's hobbit friends were dancing and singing on top of a nearby table, pipes in one hand and drinks in the other. They were not used to Elvish liquor—Miraleth could tell that much by the way they stumbled and slurred. Men and some elves were around the table, clapping to the beat of their tune and cheering them on. Elrohir and Elladan escorted Miraleth to the table at the head of the Hall, where she sat two seats down from her father's left side. Elrohir and Elladan would sit in the first two seats to his right, and Arwen would sit in the first seat to his left.

Speaking of Arwen, where was she? She was coming, wasn't she? The empty space between Miraleth and her father was awkward to those coming up to the table to offer respects, and even more awkward when Elrond left the table to make nice with a group of dwarves who had done nothing all evening but cast suspicious looks around the Hall.

—"_Renich i lu I erui govannem?" _

_ She was holding his hands to her heart, emotion strong in her voice. Tears clung to her eyelashes._

_ "Nauthannen i ned ol reniannen." _

_ Love. Attachment. _

_ She was going to do something dangerous…irrational. _

_ The pain—_

Miraleth flushed and shook her head, pulling back and throwing up barriers around her mind before she could witness anything else. Her cheeks flamed in embarrassment. She did not need to see Arwen and Aragorn together—it was not for her eyes. It was not for anyone's eyes but their own.

At the same time…there was a warning there for Arwen. Would it really have hurt to keep watching, for her sister's good…?

Miraleth shook her thoughts out of her head and focused on a servant placing a platter of fruit on the table in front of her father. No. Arwen's business was her own, and no one else's. Miraleth knew her sister. She could take care of herself.

Miraleth reached over and plucked a strawberry from the platter, and when she looked back up, golden hair caught her eye. "My lady," Legolas knelt and bowed his head, and nearby candlelight shone off the silver hairpiece he wore that marked him as a Prince of the Woodland Realm.

"_Mae Govennen, _Prince Legolas." The corners of her lips drew up in a smile. "I hope the hospitality of Imladris has been good to you."

"As always, my lady."

They stared at each other for a few long moments before Legolas' formal countenance broke and he began to laugh. Miraleth lost her composure as well and joined him before clapping her hands in joy and gesturing to the seat next to her. "Come and sit, Legolas. Besides, you belong up here. Heir to the King of Mirkwood and all," she teased as he walked around the table and took the seat on the other side of her, nodding to a servant when they poured him a cup of wine.

"Where's Arwen?" He asked after taking a sip.

"Guess." Miraleth reached for another strawberry.

"Oh, no need. Here she is." He gestured to the door, where Arwen was gliding through in all her beauty, her lavender gown flowing behind her in tendrils of grace. Men and elves alike stopped to gaze and bow their heads as she passed.

Miraleth was beautiful—of course she was, she was an elleth. Daughter of Elrond and Lady of Rivendell. They said she had a lovely beauty. Songs of old claimed that her youthful beauty made the sun smile and the trees laugh. They said her loveliness filled hearts with hope.

But Arwen had a beautiful, serious, solemn beauty. If Miraleth was the sun, then Arwen was the moon. She was gifted with the kind of beauty that made men swear their lives and souls to her and kings go to war with each other in her name. The kind of beauty that almost _hurt_ to look at. The kind that made you question your existence, because if that kind of beauty lived and was not yours, what was the point of life at all?

Miraleth knew she was beautiful, but she would never have the heartbreaking kind of beauty that her sister had.

"Hello, sister," Arwen greeted as she took her seat beside Miraleth. "Legolas," she acknowledged gently.

Legolas respectfully inclined his head. "My lady."

Miraleth smirked. "Enjoying your night, Arwen?" She raised her wine glass in a teasing toast when Arwen's face turned stony with embarrassment. Miraleth was just about to move on from her jesting and comment on the loveliness of Arwen's gown when her eyes swept over the base of Arwen's throat. Pale. Beautiful. Graceful.

_Empty._

Miraleth's breathing caught in her chest and her eyes stared, shocked, at her sister's neck. "Arwen," she breathed out. "You didn't." Her gaze snapped up to catch Arwen's wide, frightened eyes.

"Miraleth…"

"You _didn't._" Miraleth repeated, unable to form any other words. "Please, Arwen." _Please say you didn't. Please say you didn't. Please say you didn't._ The words repeated in her mind like a mantra.

"Miraleth, _dina."_ Legolas' soft voice. Miraleth barely spared him a glance before turning back to Arwen.

"You don't understand—!"

"Then make me understand!" Miraleth could feel Legolas' strong hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down. When Arwen didn't reply, Miraleth reached out and grabbed her wrist. Immediately, images flashed through her head.

—"_You said you'd bind yourself to me, forsaking the immortal life of your people."_

"_And to that I hold."_

_A gem._

_A necklace shining in the darkness._

_Stupidity._

"_I choose a mortal life."—_

Just as quickly, Miraleth released Arwen's wrist.

The three were silent, the joyous celebration around them forgotten. After a long, tenous moment, Miraleth gathered her skirts in her hands and fled the hall, ignoring every man, dwarf, and elf who knelt before her as she passed, just as they had her sister.

* * *

Legolas found Miraleth in a quiet glade, sitting calmly on a stone bench that had been there longer than she'd been alive. That was why she liked it there. Because everything had been there ages and centuries before she had. It reminded her that something had always _been_, before her and after her, and it made her problems seem smaller. Legolas allowed the silence to continue and joined Miraleth on the bench, placing his hands on his knees and looking out over the beauty of Imladris and waiting for what he knew would come. Sure enough, after mere minutes that seemed to stretch on forever, Miraleth let her head fall to rest on Legolas' shoulder and she curled up into him, breathing out a barely audible sigh. It was another few minutes before Legolas gathered up the courage to speak.

"Does the Evenstar grant Arwen her immortality?" He asked quietly. He knew the stories about the House of Elrond. They were the Half-Elven, and were ultimately given a choice between the immortality of the elves, or a mortal life and the death that came with it—the Gift of Man.

"No," Miraleth replied just as softly. "But it represents her choice. By forsaking the Evenstar, she forsakes her immortality and her birthright as Lady of Rivendell."

Legolas gazed at her out of the corner of his vision. "She forsakes her family. You and your brothers. Your father." Her silence was confirmation enough. "Is it set in stone already?"

She shook her head once, her hair rustling against the fabric of Legolas' tunic. "No. My father will try and change her mind. He wishes for Arwen and I to sail for Valinor." Her voice grew softer yet. "He says the time of the elves is over. Perhaps he is right."

"Mirkwood is disappearing," Legolas said after a moment, thinking of the green forests of his home, so different from the magical, silvery forests of Imladris. "My father remains as king, along with some of our court, but many of our people have already sailed."

Miraleth laced her arm into the crook of his elbow and curled further into him, her dark curls of hair falling over his shoulder. "It frightens me," she whispered. "Sailing to the Undying Lands. Gone forever, never to return. I'd like to stay in Middle Earth…but I would not give my immortality for it."

"Nor would I." Legolas absentmindedly stroked his fingers over her shoulder as the two looked up at the inky black of the sky pinpricked with gems of stars.

"Legolas?"

"Hmm?" The hum vibrated in his chest and through Miraleth's own body. She shivered.

"Council."

"No."

"I'll find out what's going on whether you tell me or not. I know all of Rivendell's little hiding places," Miraleth promised with a wry smile. "Do not underestimate me."

"Oh, I don't doubt you for a second." Legolas sighed. "I'd just rather you get in trouble than the both of us."

"That's mean."

"Self-preservation, more like." Another moment of comfortable silence, broken only by bugs chirping in the trees. "The Seeing," Legolas started. "Does it bother you?"

"No. I barely notice it."

"Don't lie to me…"

Miraleth turned her head to look up at Legolas. He was frowning down at her. She turned away and surveyed the landscape before her before answering. "Of course it bothers me. It's terrible, having to See everything. What has passed, and what will come to pass. Private moments that are not meant for your eyes. And since Frodo arrived, Seeing has not brought pleasant dreams, but nightmares." She exhaled harshly. "And it's unreliable at best. I don't feel powerful. I only feel as if I have no control. The stories of Man and Dwarf may make it seem as if being gifted with the Sight renders you all-knowing, but I cannot see what the future holds. Only events and feelings that may or may not come to pass."

"Are you alright? It doesn't injure you?"

Miraleth shook her head, sighed. "I'm fine. It just…wears me down, that's all. I'm not quite sure what to do with it."

"The Lady Galadriel has the same Sight. Perhaps you could ask for a word with her about it."

Miraleth shuddered. "No…no. Going to my grandmother is my last resort. Galadriel is beautiful, but she is wicked and cruel. She is corrupt in the power her knowledge brings her."

Legolas stroked her hair apologetically. "I can think of no one else who bears this same burden. If I could take it from you, I would."

"No, don't say that. I would not wish this on you, Legolas." Miraleth smiled weakly.

"Then perhaps I could merely help you bear it." He suggested, the corner of his mouth turning up. "Mirkwood will not miss a short absence. How long am I welcome in Imladris?"

"For as long as you are willing to stay."

"Then I will stay for as long as my land allows," he promised, taking note of the way his friend's eyes fluttered shut in relief. "I would not sit by and let you bear this pain alone."

* * *

**A/N: Forgot to mention, if it doesn't bother you, this story is best viewed (or I think so, at least) with the story width at 3/4. I love FanFiction and all, but the story format drives me crazy. The width of the default full view makes all the paragraphs seem shorter and thinner and the automatic double spacing between the paragraphs makes me have to use the line breaks when I want to transition and I really don't like them and it's just one big mess for my OCD mind. Ok. **

_Mae Govannen_—Well met

_Nae saian luume'_—It has been too long

_Renich i lu I erui govannem_—Do you remember when we first met

_Nauthannen i ned ol reniannen_—I thought I had strayed into a dream

_Dina_—Be silent


	3. Chapter 3

**I didn't expect to get so many story al****erts/favorites in one day. I freaked out like a little kid everytime something from FanFiction showed up in my inbox. c:**

* * *

True to her word, just as the council was starting, Miraleth settled herself atop the railing on the balcony above the circle of beings. She looked below her. Frodo, Gandalf, Aragorn, Elves of Mirkwood—_Legolas_—Dwarves from who knows where, Men of Gondor, Elrohir and Elladan, and her father were sitting in a circle, quietly, suspiciously observing one another.

She could almost hear the hobbit's breathing when her father began to speak. "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old." He paused and looked around the circle of beings, as if confirming that, yes, they were indeed all friends here. "You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite…or you will fall," He promised as his stony gaze turned towards the Men of Gondor. "Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom. Bring forth the ring, Frodo."

The small Hobbit uncertainly stepped forward and placed the One Ring on a stone pedestal in the middle of the circle before just as uncertainly returning to his seat next to Gandalf.

Meanwhile, the council broke out in gasps and murmurs. "I dreamed," One man murmured. Miraleth turned her attention to Boromir, who stared at the Ring with barely-concealed desire. He stood. "I saw the eastern sky grow dark, but in the west a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: _Doom's near at hand. Isildur's bane is found._" With each word, Boromir stepped closer to the pedestal, enthralled by the golden piece of jewelry. He reached out his hand to touch it. "Isildur's bane…"

Miraleth's father jumped to his feet. "Boromir!"

_"Ash nazg durbatulûk!" _A voice roared, commanding and demanding. A dwarf yelled and brandished his axe. Miraleth's breathing quickened as an unexplained terror blossomed inside her like a bloodstain and she sank down to the ground.

_"Ash nazg grimbatul!" _ The skies grew dark and thunder boomed around them. By this point, every member of the council was on their feet, but Miraleth saw none of it. She did not know the words spoken. She did not even know the language. But they ignited something terrible in her and she cried out, holding her head as her mind screamed. _A great, monstrous eye on fire. Mordor. Death. Despair. __**The One Ring.**_

_"Ash nazg thrakatulûk," _When the pain was lessened enough for Miraleth to peer meekly through the railing of the balcony, she saw that Gandalf was on his feet, holding his hand high and his staff higher. Her father had his face in his hands. And then the Ring was speaking as well, its warped, twisted voice one with Gandalf's.

_Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"_ The words echoed throughout Imladris for a dark moment as the skies lightened once more and the thunder retreated. Miraleth's breath came in gasps as the council seated themselves, shocked.

"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris," Elrond's tone was hard, his face stony with shock and anger as he looked towards Gandalf, who looked, more or less, just fine.

"Do not ask a pardon, Master Elrond," He said, scolding. "For the black speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west. The Ring is altogether evil." He spat at Boromir as he returned to his seat.

Boromir paid him no mind and only shook his head. "It is a gift," He proclaimed breathlessly. "A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the steward of Gondor—" _That's right, _Miraleth thought. _Steward. Not King. You'd do well to remember it, Boromir, son of Denethor. _"—kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!" By this time, Boromir was standing, speaking with conviction as he looked around the council, daring each member with his eyes to stand and disagree with him.

It was Aragorn who had the courage to shake his head at Boromir. "You cannot wield it, none of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

Boromir turned to glare at Aragorn, who met his eyes without fear. Boromir sneered. "And what would a ranger know of this matter?"

And then Legolas was on his feet, his brow angrily furrowed for the insult of his friend. "This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Miraleth did not miss Frodo's confused, lost look towards Aragorn, but had no time to question it. _Someone hasn't been truthful. _Boromir turned back to Aragorn and stared at him. "Aragorn?" His voice was quiet, disbelieving. "This is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Legolas looked close to drawing his bow on the man.

Aragorn sighed and raised a hand towards Legolas. "_Havo dad, Legolas._" Legolas, though still angry, sat back down and glared at Boromir, who snickered.

"Gondor has no king." He turned to sit as well. "Gondor needs no king."

Gandalf interrupted their glaring contest with a scolding huff. "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it."

Elrond stood. "You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed."

At these words, the Ring seemed to whisper, as if it knew exactly what they were plotting. A Dwarf swallowed hard. "Then what are we waiting for?" He stood and with a yell and struck his axe down onto the Ring, and Miraleth winced as Sauron's eye flashed through her head and the dwarf was thrown back from the pedestal. By the gasps among the council, she could only assume that everyone else had seen the same image in their minds. When her gaze returned to the Ring, it was murmuring and whispering in that same dark tongue Gandalf had been speaking in. The Dwarf's axe was in shattered pieces around it.

Elrond was unsurprised. "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom…only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." Elrond ignored the whispers and looked around the council. "One of you must do this."

Absolute silence.

Boromir was the one to break it, with his forehead in his palm. "One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep." He made a circle with his hand, connecting the tip of his thumb to the tips of the rest of his fingers. "And the Great Eye is ever watchful. Mordor is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, ash, and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume." He shook his head and settled back into his chair, grimacing and chuckling in defeat. "Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

Legolas was on his feet again, glaring at Boromir. "Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" He looked around the circle of beings. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

The same Dwarf that had tried to destroy the Ring—Gimli—cast an angry gaze upon Legolas and spoke in rough, gravelly tones. "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!"

Boromir joined Legolas as he stood, shouting. "And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

Gimli struggled to his feet next, completely ignoring the angry man beside him. "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an _elf!_" All the elves now stood, angry.

"Stupid dwarf," Miraleth muttered, watching the commencing feud with waning interest. They were all no more than insolent children, fighting as they were. Boromir fought with an elf from Mirkwood. Legolas and Gimli argued ("Never trust an elf!"), each backed by their races. The men argued amongst each other and with anyone else who would raise their voice. _Such are the ways of men. _But even the wise _Mithrandir_ was drawn into the fighting and he soon began a shouting match with Boromir.

The only one who remained quiet in their chair was the hobbit Frodo, whose troubled gaze was stuck on the Ring. His face grew more and more troubled, contorting in discomfort and worry, until he too stood…but not to feud as the rest did. "I will take it!" He shouted into the fray.

Miraleth straightened up. "No, Frodo," she murmured.

"I will take it!" Frodo shouted again, and the council grew quiet. Gandalf turned slowly to see his hobbit standing, determined. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," Frodo repeated. "Though," he continued, his resolve to be the hero fading along with his voice. "I do not know the way."

The very air was stricken into silence until Gandalf nodded towards Frodo. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf rumbled and went to stand by the hobbit, clasping his shoulder. "As long as it is yours to bear."

Aragorn stepped forward. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will," he promised. He knelt before the hobbit. "You have my sword."

"And my axe," Gimli grinned, a glint in his black eyes. Miraleth was caught between crying out for Frodo's protectors and keeping her hiding place. She couldn't have explained, but she feared for each of them. Terrible things were going to happen to them if they set out for Mordor.

She was just about to retreat to her rooms when Legolas started forward towards the hobbit.

"And you have my bow."

She whimpered out a gasp and clapped a hand over her mouth as soon as the sound escaped, too late. Legolas and Elrond's eyes snapped up to where she was.

Miraleth did not hear Boromir's promise to protect Frodo as well. She did not see Frodo's three hobbit friends jump out from their own hiding places to stand by their friend and demand to go along. She did not hear her father proclaim the nine travelers as the Fellowship of the Ring and wish them all the best tidings. She was racing to her rooms, her gown billowing behind her as she ran, as if she could outrun the knowledge of the fates of her dearest friends.

* * *

Miraleth was in her father's study when he returned from the council. His face was harsh. "I told you to stay away from that council, Miraleth."

She ignored him. "_Ada, _how could you?" She stood from the chair she had taken while waiting and shook her head. "Legolas, Aragorn, Gandalf_._ How could you allow them to offer up their lives just like that? And to what—to march into Mordor as if taking a pleasant stroll? You heard the man Boromir. _It is folly, Ada!_"

"It had to be done," Elrond snapped, moving towards his desk. "You don't understand the ways of the world quite yet, daughter, and sometimes sacrifices must be made."

"But I have Seen—!"

"Yes! And you must not let them know it!" He interrupted her anxious worries with a stern face and a sterner tone. "The Men and Dwarves say that those with Sight speak in riddles. They are right!"

Miraleth sputtered for a moment. "But…why? If there is a way to save someone by knowing the future, if there's a way to change someone's fate…why would you withhold such knowledge?"

"Because," Elrond sat himself into the chair at his desk and calmed himself, reminding himself that Miraleth was only just young. "Knowledge leads to power, and power leads to recklessness, and reckless people do careless things." Miraleth's silence was enough of a response. "Fates are not meant to be changed, Miraleth. They are meant to be accepted."

She sat down across from her father, who reached over and tucked a stray curl behind a pointed ear. "Legolas was supposed to stay with me." She said. "If anything happens to him, I…" She trailed off. "He is my dearest friend, _Ada_."

"Look into his future. What do you see?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know how to just…look and be able to See. It does not come on command."

"Well then I will tell you what I see." Elrond said as he circled around his desk to stand by his daughter and wrap his arms around her. "I see a long life. I see adventure, and honor, and happiness. I see friendship. I see…life."

"Is that all you see?"

"It is all I will share with you," he released her from his hold and looked down at her. "It is more than you need to know."

"It consoles me nonetheless," She smiled softly, half-heartedly. It did console her. She trusted her father with everything she had, but she didn't think there was anything in the world that could completely console the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

After leaving her father's study, Miraleth began the walk to her rooms but after a short while, found herself walking elsewhere. She walked straight past her rooms, Arwen's rooms, Elrohir and Elladan's rooms, and kept walking until she found herself in the guest rooms the members of the council had been staying in. She followed the slight twang of bowstring until she hovered just outside the room where Legolas sat on a bed and restrung his bow.

She was just about to walk away when Legolas smiled, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. Of course, he'd probably heard her coming from down the hallway. "Are you going to come in?"

Miraleth stayed quiet, but stepped into the room, her eyes never leaving the elf before her.

He glanced at her. "Do not be angry with me, Miraleth."

"I am not angry."

"Oh?" His eyes caught hers and held her gaze there. She flushed and was the first one to look away, her eyes roaming the room until she found something of interest for her to distract herself with.

She was not angry.

But a bit of hurt welled up inside her when she saw his trunk at the foot of his bed. "Already packed?"

He returned to restringing his bow. "We leave at first light tomorrow." She didn't reply, and wandered over to the edge of the room, where there was no wall, and placed her hand on the railing. "I am sorry." Legolas' voice was hoarse.

She looked over her shoulder. His face was honest and sincere, as it always had been. "As am I," She murmured and looked back out over her city of Rivendell. "Which path will you take?"

"Gandalf says we will go south for forty days, to the Gap of Rohan, and then turn east towards Mordor." Legolas said, echoing what he had heard from Aragorn earlier. It was a fairly quick path that Gandalf had chosen. The safest, by far. "We will be very quick. Only to Mordor and back, and we will be home before you know it," he chuckled, as if he was talking about taking a stroll down to the river before breakfast.

Miraleth scoffed and cast him an annoyed glance. "Yes, it's only a quick run to the other side of Middle-Earth."

He laughed then. "No need for your wit here, Miraleth. For going to the other side of Middle-Earth, then, we will be quick. We will be gone for a few months, at most." He set his bow done, satisfied with the weight of the string, and stood to join her at the railing. "And when you have an eternity of life, what is a few months but a slight annoyance?"

She sighed, her lips a tight line. "I suppose."

"It's only logical."

"Of course."

"You will be here when I return."

"Yes."

"Why do you worry so?"

Miraleth's voice was soft when she spoke. "I do not know what is yet to come. I only know that there is little happiness where you are going. The sun does not shine in Mordor. The grass cannot grow under the ash and rock. The trees cannot speak, for they have been cut down and burned."

"Then I will have to hurry back to where the sun shines, and the grass grows, and the trees speak."

Miraleth turned to face him. "You will hurry," she urged. "Promise me."

"I swear it." Miraleth turned away, satisfied, but Legolas put a finger under her chin. "Come now, smile. Perhaps the sun does not shine where I am going, but here it is shining always for you. Sadness does not look as lovely on your face as happiness does."

She crossed her arms. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Legolas Thranduilion."

"Ah, but the truth gets me anywhere," he grinned, eyes sparkling. This drew a reluctant chuckle from Miraleth. "Much better," Legolas commented. "Run and sleep now. The hour grows late and we leave tomorrow the moment dawn breaks."

"Do not think yourself so bold as to command me," Miraleth snipped, but swept towards the door all the same. She paused in the doorway and sighed, bravado fading away. _"Tenna' tul're san'." _

Legolas smiled softly. _"Quel esta. Tenna' tul're."_

* * *

"The ring bearer is setting out on the quest of Mount Doom. And you who travel with him—no oath or bond is laid to go further than you will." Elrond's voice commanded the attention of the small courtyard inside the gates of Rivendell. The Fellowship was leaving—they were packed, their horses saddled. Miraleth stood with her siblings, just behind their father. Arwen clutched at her hand, shooting worried glances at Aragorn all the while, and Miraleth was having her own staring match with Legolas. Legolas, who had promised to stay. Legolas, who was leaving. Legolas, her dearest friend whose future she had not Seen. They had said their goodbyes earlier that morning. He had given her a dagger of his (_"_More of a keepsake than a weapon," he'd said. "It's a little off-balance for you. I know how you like your weapons made.") and they had stood in Miraleth's room and embraced until Aragorn came to get him.

"Farewell," Elrond continued. "Hold to your purpose, and may the blessings of Elves, Men, and free-folk go with you." Aragorn and Legolas were the only two in the Fellowship to give the traditional sign of respect in return—they inclined their heads and placed their right hands over their hearts.

"The Fellowship awaits the ring bearer," Gandalf announced, his eyes on Frodo, who still looked slightly lost in all of this. He was too far from the Shire for comfort. But after one long, last look around at Rivendell and one worried look around at his Fellowship, he (uncertainly) started towards the gates of Rivendell, holding his head a little higher. _That's right, little hobbit,_ Miraleth smiled fondly. _One foot in front of the other. _

He was just outside the stone gates when she heard him whisper under his breath, "Mordor, Gandalf, is it left or right?"

One hand still on his hobbit's shoulder, Gandalf jerked his chin towards the left fork in the road and quietly rumbled, "Left."

Aragorn and Arwen shared one last look that made Miraleth want to vomit before he, too, followed the hobbit. But then there was a flash of blonde out of the corner of Miraleth's eye and she forgot just how sick the looks shared between Aragorn and Arwen made her.

_"Asca,"_ She murmured with a watery smile when Legolas looked at her, and waved him away. _"Tenna' ento lye omenta, Legolas._"

He gave her a reassuring smile, placed his right hand over his heart, murmured a quiet _"my lady_" so soft only she could hear, and was gone, out the gates with the rest of the Fellowship.

Only when he was gone did Miraleth's attention return to Arwen's death grip on her hand. A droplet of moisture landed on Miraleth's skin and she glanced up at Arwen, slightly shocked. "No, no, Arwen," she muttered, reaching up to touch her sister's face. "Don't cry, don't cry, everything is going to be ok…"

"He…" Arwen's voice broke. "He is gone. And he is only but a man, and where he goes, danger is behind every corner. It only takes one second of defenselessness and he will be struck down."

Miraleth shook her head and wiped a few stray tears from Arwen's rosy cheeks. "No, I don't think so. Isuldir's heir will not be struck down so easily, and especially not when he has such beauty to live for."

Arwen's tears still did not stop. "The Evenstar is but a necklace. That's all it is—a piece of jewelry. It will not protect him."

Miraleth tugged on Arwen's hand and led her away from the gates. "You underestimate the mentality of a hopeful man. He will be just fine."

* * *

_Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg grimbatul. Ash nazg thrakatulûk, Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul._—One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.

_Tenna' tul're san'_—Until tomorrow then

_Quel esta. Tenna' tul're._—Sleep well. Until tomorrow.

_Asca. Tenna' ento lye omenta._—Hurry. Until next we meet.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So for everyone who asked, this story is mostly movieverse. I didn't explicitly say so earlier because I think if you simply read as it is, it shouldn't really matter, and also because later I might take elements from the book as well.  
**

**Also to the guy that PM'd me that two page long message and was totally rude about telling me what an awful thing I was doing to Tolkien's work by mixing up dialogue and changing details about events and characters, I'd just like to say that this is, in fact, _fanfiction and not published work to be taken seriously_, and if I so desire, I can change and move around whatever I want. Also, how did you even write two pages of crap on this story, because there were only three chapters up and two pages on three chapters is a little bit ridiculous.  
**

**Ok. All clear, Mr. Rude Guy? Awesome.  
**

**That being said, I'm really sorry if I made anyone else upset with any variations from the script, events, characters, etc. It was never my intention to upset anyone. (Because apparently, people get upset over things like that.)  
**

* * *

Four days passed without much incident after the Fellowship had gone. Each night Miraleth stayed longer and longer in her room trying to force herself to dream. Trying to force herself to See. Maybe there was still a way to protect Legolas, even while he was off running about playing hero.

"Eat something," Arwen pleaded at the side of her bed. She clutched at her hand. "Father is worried. Elrohir and Elladan are worried. I am worried, sister."

Miraleth scoffed and turned over in her bed so Arwen would not see her troubled face. "Don't be worried, I am fine. Just…tired." She lied.

"Tired? Tired of what? Not of being awake, all you've been doing is sleeping these past four days. You need no more sleep, Miraleth." Arwen pushed Miraleth's hair back from her forehead.

Miraleth remained quiet, her back still to Arwen.

"You've Seen nothing." Arwen whispered.

"Nothing of the Fellowship. Nothing of Legolas, or Aragorn," Miraleth admitted. It was quiet in the room again for a moment until she shuddered. "But I've Seen…awful things. Things that can't possibly be true. I'm sure they're only nightmares."

"What kinds of things?"

"Red sunrises. Men in Imladris, wearing cloaks and hoods, weaving in and out of the shadows between the trees. Assassins standing over my bed, murmuring in the tongue of Mordor." Miraleth shook her head. "Like I said, only nightmares."

"We are safe in Imladris. Father is here." Arwen soothed before standing to leave.

"Promise me Arwen. Promise me I am safe here. I have never felt dreams so real." Miraleth's lip trembled as she peered up at her sister.

For the first time in a long time, Miraleth looked every bit the youngest child of Elrond and Celebrian. Her covers were pulled up to her chin and her lips were trembling. Her already-pale knuckles were turning white where she clutched at the covers. Arwen paused in leaving. She often forgot how young Miraleth really was.

She reached over to Miraleth's vanity and picked up a cloak of Elrohir's that was draped across the bench. Arwen handed it to Miraleth, who took it and held it close to her. The dark fabric smelled of her brother—the woody freshness of the forest and the steel of his sword. It smelled of safety. It smelled of home.

"I promise." Arwen whispered.

* * *

"She's terrified, _Ada._ I know not if she is truly seeing what will come to pass, but she feels unsafe here." Arwen sat on the edge of a chair in her father's study, watching him pace back and forth before her. "Father, please. Let me take her away! We could ride to Lothlórien—!"

"No! I will not have you and your sister ride _alone_ through Caradhras Pass." He snapped, his voice hard. "She is safest here, at home. We are all safe here. Have you no faith in my protection, daughter?"

"You always have my faith. I'm only worried for her."

Elrond stopped pacing in front of the nearest window and looked out over the forests of Imladris. "My own magic protects these lands." His voice lowered. "And I will be damned if I allow any harm to come to Miraleth, in Imladris or elsewhere."

* * *

A heavy footfall in Miraleth's doorway made her stir in her bed. "Elrohir," she murmured. "Is that you?" And then another set of footsteps, behind the first, but no response from either. "Elladan?"

And then there was the awful sound of a sword sliding out of its sheath, and Miraleth's room stank of death.

* * *

Arwen was attempting once more to convince Elrond to let her take Miraleth and run when he felt it. "Mirkwood may lie closer to Imladris than Lórien. What if I took her there? King Thranduil will welcome her like his own—"

"Arwen."

"Or I could even take her farther west, instead of east. To Mithlond. If anywhere is safe, the Gray Havens is—"

"_Dina, Arwen!"_

She was silent, and after a moment, her head snapped towards the doorway at the exact moment Elrond's did.

* * *

Miraleth tried once more to call out her brothers' names, but her voice would not come. Something felt wrong. There was evil in Imladris. Another heavy footstep echoed in her room, not fifteen feet away, but she did not have the courage to turn and see what monstrosity it was that had invaded her home.

Her breathing came harder and she could see her breath cloud in the air. The temperature had suddenly dropped, and she shivered.

The footsteps got closer. There were two sets, she could tell that with certainty now.

Where was her bow? Her daggers? She could not reach any of them without moving, but her body refused to listen to her and she lay still in her bed. Panic rose up inside of her and her heart quickened. Murmurs began to come from the direction of the footsteps—dark, terrible murmurs in the tongue of Mordor. She did not know and did not care to find out what they said. _Please,_ she pleaded to no one. _Please, please, please._ But there was no one to hear her mind scream. Just as something in her snapped, she rolled over towards the monster to grab her daggers from under her bed—and stopped. The footsteps had paused, and a cloaked figure stood over her bed, his arms outstretched and a sword pointing down towards the bed, straight over her chest. Another cloaked figure stood beside the first, and his hands were outstretched towards her. They both murmured the same mantra in the Black Speech, over and over, haunting. The first figure rose his sword—he drove it down towards her chest—she screamed, waiting for the harsh pain to blossom—and an arrow sprouted from the figure's chest. He dropped the sword and let out a ghoulish shriek that could not have come from any Man or being she had met before.

"Miraleth!" Elrohir shouted and she flew out of bed and plastered herself against the wall as Elladan leased an arrow at the second figure. The arrow flew through the figure's neck and straight out the other side. Crimson sprayed from the wound, coating Miraleth's bed and her face with sticky blood as the figure fell, convulsing and screaming.

Another flash of black came running—no, _gliding_—through the door and just as it was about to bring a sword down on Elrohir's shoulder—Miraleth called out his name—its head was suddenly rolling across the floor. Elrond stood in her doorway, a long blade in each hand. Both were coated in blood. "They are everywhere! Elrohir, Elladan, _take her and run! _Take her to the Fellowship! _Do not stop!"_

"What? The Fellowship?" Miraleth barely had time to grab her bow before Elrohir threw his cloak around her yanked her out the door by her arm. Elladan, bow drawn and an arrow nocked, was right behind them as they ran down hallways and outside, stopping for no one. More ghastly shrieks sounded and the cloaked figures seemed to appear out of nowhere. Elrohir ran his sword through one as they ran, coating himself and Miraleth blood so thick it appeared black on their skin. They reached the stables, but they did not slow. Elladan swung Miraleth up behind him onto his horse as Arwen—_when did she get there?_—was shoving a bundle of things into Miraleth's arms.

"Arwen?" Panic was clear in Miraleth's voice.

"The Fellowship can keep you safe. Apparently safer than here," Arwen rushed out.

"I don't understand! The Fellowship is four days away!"

"Make it in less! Ride fast," Arwen commanded Elladan. "Do not stop!"

Elladan nodded before urging the horse into a gallop out of the stables. Miraleth cried for Arwen, but she was already behind them.

Nearly as soon as they were outside the gates a bear—a _bear_, one of the biggest Miraleth had ever seen—suddenly stood in front of them. Elladan's horse whinnied in protest and reared up, and nearly as quickly as the bear had appeared, three arrows sprouted from its chest, and it roared something terrible and fell. Elladan pulled the reins on the horse and it raced forward. Elrohir pulled up alongside them as they were leaving Imladris. "The animals are under some sort of spell! This is Saruman's doing!" He yelled over the wind.

"How did those _things_ even get past the borders of Imladris?" Elladan all but roared. "They were not Men. They were not anything I have ever encountered before."

Elrohir shook his head. "The power of Saruman is vast."

After what seemed like hours but what perhaps only minutes, they were riding across the plains at the base of the Misty Mountains, out of Imladris and out of all Miraleth knew to be safe. She cast one look back at the forests of her home. Was her father alright? Was he alive? Was Arwen? Or had the intruders left Imladris the moment they realized she had?

"Elladan," she called up to him, leaning up to get closer to his ear. "They were saying that I have Seen Sauron and could not be allowed to live as long as I knew what lay in the depths of the Great Eye. But they were lying, I have not Seen anything."

Elladan took this in pondering silence and exchanged a glance with Elrohir, whose brow was furrowed. "Rest, Miraleth," he said and placed a hand over hers where they were locked around his waist. "It is a long ride to where the Fellowship will be."

And so she rested, her arms tight around Elladan's waist and her body warm from Elrohir's cloak. But there was no true rest on the back of a horse and even with Elladan's horsemanship and the excellence of the horse underneath them, Miraleth was jolted into consciousness at every bump. A couple times she would hear her brothers arguing with each other.

"Why would Father send her to the Fellowship?" Elrohir was nearly demanding to know. "Imladris is not safe, fine—so he sends her on the way to Mordor? To travel with the bearer of the One Ring? Where is the wisdom in this choice?"

Elladan was significantly more at ease now that the immediate danger had passed. "Father knows something we don't. We must trust him in this."

"Trust him to send our youngest sister to the doorstep of Sauron himself?" There was more than a twinge of annoyance in Elrohir's tone. "He and Saruman just tried to have her killed!"

"Calm, brother. She will be with Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas…they will keep her safe should anything try to harm her again…"

And she would drift back off into a restless sleep.

Restless, but not dreamless. She dreamed that she stood on the highest mountaintop in Middle-earth. A shadow had formed over the western lands of Mordor and was sweeping over the land like a wave—destruction in its purest form. The wave of shadow set fire to homes and tore down watch posts of the kingdoms of Men. With the shadow came the Nazgûl, and they and their dragon steeds feasted on the flesh of children whose families they had slayed. She dreamed of heads floating in pools of blood, with black hollows where their eyes had been eaten out by maggots, and she dreamed of screaming trees on fire and the sun ceasing to give light.

She had almost come to expect the nightmares now whenever she closed her eyes.

* * *

When she woke again, Elrohir and Elladan were slowing down from the breakneck gallop they had been riding at to a quick trot. The sky had lightened. It was just past midday. "How long have we been riding?" She asked, her voice thick with sleep.

"Over twelve hours," Elrohir replied and gestured to the top of the peak before them. Miraleth squinted against the midday sun. Nine figures ambled along. She could see Gandalf's staff and the golden shine of Legolas' hair.

By the time they had reached them, the Fellowship had seen them coming and had stopped. As soon as they were in hearing distance of each other, Gandalf was the first to stride forward, shock on his face. "Any particular reason Elrond has allowed the pride and joy of his life out of Imladris and into the vicinity of the One Ring of Sauron?" His voice was gruff, angry.

"Imladris is no longer safe for Miraleth," Elrohir said and demounted. His exhausted horse immediately wandered over to a small stream. "_Mithrandir,"_ He gestured away from the Fellowship, and Gandalf followed Elrohir to hear what all this was about. Elladan jumped down from his horse and swung Miraleth off, making sure she could stand alright before letting go of her.

"Miraleth," Legolas pushed past four confused Hobbits and took her by the arm. His brow furrowed when he took in the state she was in. She hadn't really thought about her appearance until now—she was in a white sleeping gown with Elrohir's dark cloak drawn tightly around her and her bow across her back. Her hair was loose, her feet bare, and she was covered in dried blood. "What's happened? You're covered in blood." He glanced at Elladan. "You're both covered in blood."

"It's not ours." Elladan muttered, his eyes roaming the hills around them. "Imladris was attacked. Miraleth has been marked for death."

"_What?"_

Aragorn looked up angrily from behind Legolas. "By whom?" He wandered over, along with the four hobbits and the Man, Boromir, and the Dwarf, Gimli, who was observing the entire spectacle with wide eyes.

"Servants of Saruman. They think she knows something."

"And does she?" Boromir asked.

Miraleth simmered, standing between Elladan and Legolas. "_I _do not. And _I_ am standing right here!"

They ignored her. "Well, why bring her here?" Gimli threw his hands up. "What can we do about it? We are in no position to protect a little elleth."

"I'd watch your tongue, _Dwarf_." Miraleth hissed.

She was ignored once again, and Elladan took her by the hand to the stream where the horses drank. "Sit," He said gently and pointed to a rock. She sat and watched him untie a bundle from his horse. "Here. Stay put, don't wander off. Aragorn is watching, but I'd rather he not have to draw his sword on anything. I am going to speak to Gandalf with Elrohir and get this figured out." He handed the bundle to her and went off to where Elrohir and Gandalf were speaking in the distance. Miraleth stared at the bundle of fabric for a bit. Arwen had pushed it into her hands as they were escaping Rivendell. It had seemed like forever ago, even if it was only the night before. She pulled on the twine that held the bundle together and watched as it unrolled in her lap. Clothes—not her silken gowns and gossamer drapes, but good, sturdy riding clothes that would last longer during travel. And wrapped up inside the clothes—Miraleth nearly cried—were four of her daggers, including the one Legolas had given her, and two long blades in sheaths. Arwen's blades. There were a pair of riding boots there, too, and a small box of healing herbs Miraleth distinctly remembered leaving in Arwen's rooms one day.

She hoped Arwen was alright. _Well,_ she brusquely thought as she gathered up the clothes and stood, unfastening Elrohir's cloak and leaving it on the rock, _no point in wasting time on that now. _Arwen would be fine—she was tough as she was beautiful. Miraleth glanced up at Aragorn and met his gaze. He nodded when she held up the clothes and gestured to an area just beyond the stream hidden from the eyes of the Fellowship, and she stepped carefully through the stream to go and rid herself of the nightshift she wore. Once she was certain she could no longer be seen, she slipped off the gown that had once been white but was now dyed red and dropped it into the stream. If it was still salvageable, she should have liked to keep it. She rinsed the dried blood from her body and from her hair, shivering each time the cool water of the stream touched her skin, and slipped into the warm, dry clothes Arwen had thrown into her arms. The clothes were her own, not Arwen's or a random set Arwen had come by while running to the stables, and Miraleth briefly wondered how Arwen had come by them.

She was just stepping out from behind the rock that had hidden her—and came face to face with Boromir. She jumped and her hand flew to one of the blades sheathed at her side.

"My apologies," he bowed his head. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Um…" Miraleth relaxed, still uneasy, and shook her hand away from her blade. "Quite alright…" she mumbled and knelt to pick her nightshift out of the water. It was still stained with blood.

Boromir backed up a few feet and brightened once the dark moment of startling Miraleth had passed. "Aragorn just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I'm fine," she cast him an uneasy glance. "Tell Aragorn he could have come and checked for himself next time. He knows better than to sneak up on me." This shamed Boromir into silence and he followed Miraleth like a stray dog with its tail between its legs back to the Fellowship. Miraleth gave Aragorn a meaningful stare as she passed him. "Sending the Man to go see if I was done changing…" she murmured and he shrugged and stammered apologetically. "Where are my brothers?" She asked, raising her voice.

"Still arguing with Gandalf." Gimli was the one to answer in his rough, gravelly tones, and he pointed to where the three figures stood in the distance. They were speaking with big, exaggerated arm gestures and it did almost seem as if they were arguing. Miraleth frowned and sat herself on a rock to begin tearing her stained nightshift into long strips. The soft material tore easily. Her handmaidens would have killed her if they had seen her doing this. Miraleth smiled bitterly at the thought.

The two red-haired Hobbits ran over and sat by her. "You're an Elf." One of them said enthusiastically.

"Yes." She smiled wryly.

"Gandalf and the other two. Can you hear what they're saying?" The same Hobbit leaned in and whispered.

She looked at the Hobbit. Intelligence and determination sparkled in his eyes. She chuckled. "No, Meriadoc Brandybuck, I cannot."

The Hobbit cursed to himself, and the other one furrowed his brow in curiosity. "Say," he began to Meriadoc. "Do you think she knows my name?"

Miraleth glanced at him. "Yes, Peregrin Took, I know your name too."

He clearly did not expect her to know, and he cast a confused look at his friend. "Oh. Well…in any case, I'm Pippin." He bowed clumsily, enthusiastically, with a grin on his face. "And this is Merry. I'd say the only one who calls me Peregrin Took is Gandalf, isn't that right Merry?"

"That sounds right, Pip." Merry nodded.

Pippin shrugged. "Oh well." He nodded to the nightshift she tore at. "What are you doing? You don't want to keep that? My mum would have a fit if she ever caught me tearing up my clothes."

Merry elbowed him. "Well she isn't your mum, Pip," He muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Miraleth caught herself grinning at the Hobbits' antics. "I hardly want to sleep in a gown stained by the blood of those who tried to kill me. No, the fabric is for bandages now."

"Bandages for who?" Pippin asked, tripping over a rock.

Miraleth smiled. "Bandages for you, little hobbit," she teased. Her smile faded when Gandalf came striding back, his face clearly conflicted. He walked past her and straight to Aragorn, and the two began to speak in hushed tones. Elrohir and Elladan followed close behind and went to Miraleth, who still sat on the rock with her ruined, bloodstained gown in her lap, her face back to the sad, solemn expression now that she was reminded again why she was here.

After exchanging a glance with Elladan, Elrohir knelt in front of her. "You are going to stay with the Fellowhip," he said. "They will keep you safe."

"Safe?" She shook her head and her face fell. "I don't want to be safe. I want to be home."

Elladan shook his head and knelt beside Elrohir. He took his youngest sister's hand and ran his thumb over it. "We want you to be safe, Miraleth." But he could not help but feel that setting Miraleth on the path to Mordor was one of the least safe things they could possibly do for her. He remembered with a bitter smile that his and Elrohir's biggest worry had once been keeping the suitors away from her. _"Sílo Anor bo men lín, muinthel. Melin le."_

_ "Melin le," _Miraleth echoed. Her eyes watered as Elladan stood. She paid little attention to the four Hobbits and the Dwarf that looked on in confusion. ("What are they saying? Legolas, come here and tell me what they're saying," the Dwarf demanded.)

After Elladan stood, Elrohir smiled at Miraleth, who gave a watery smile in return. Elrohir picked up his cloak from where she had left it on the rock and fastened it around her neck. "No…none of those tears now. _Ce a mellyn, muinthel." _His voice broke on the last word, but he kept up a smile all the same. _"Harthon gerithach raid gelin a melthin._ _Na-den pedim ad, Miraleth."_

Miraleth sniffled and grinned when Elrohir laughed at her. _"Melin le," _She said.

He nodded. _"Melin le."_

When he moved to stand, Miraleth grasped his hand. "You'll tell Father, won't you? And Arwen?"

He nodded again. "Of course."

She could only watch as Elrohir and Elladan each clasped Legolas on the shoulder ("Keep her safe, Legolas," Elrohir murmured. "Or you'll have us to answer to,") and nodded at Aragorn before mounting their horses. With one last look at Miraleth, they pulled on the reins, and were gone the way they had come.

After a moment of watching them ride away, she stood, her half-gone nightshift forgotten on the ground, and went to stand by Gandalf, who had also been watching them leave. He took a puff on his pipe and made a noise of acknowledgement when he noticed her. "Oh, I'm sorry, my dear. They really do just want to keep you safe."

"Yes, I've heard…" she murmured and crossed her arms.

"And the road to Mordor is safe?" Aragorn was unconvinced. He looked at Miraleth. "Your sister will never forgive me if I let anything happen to you."

"Perhaps this is not the safest place for her to be," Gandalf said. "But we must trust that Master Elrond had reason in sending Miraleth to us." He looked around the site they had stopped at. "Eh…we may as well stop here. It has been a trying day for all of us. My dear," he nodded at Miraleth and turned to settle himself upon a higher rock to look over the campsite.

Miraleth turned and wandered to the edge of the cliff they were stopped on. She sat there and watched her brothers ride away from her until they were but a speck in the distance.

* * *

_Dina—_Be silent

_Sílo Anor bo men lín, muinthel. Melin le.—_May the sun shine on your road, sister. I love you.

_Ce a mellyn, muinthel.—_You are with friends, sister.

_Harthon gerithach raid gelin a melthin._ _Na-den pedim ad, Miraleth.—_I hope you will have green and golden paths. Until we speak again, Miraleth.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So sorry for the wait, I've been out of the country for a couple weeks. I'm back home where there's reliable internet connection again though, so I'll be updating again. **

**Thank you for the reviews and story alert adds. c:  
It made my day everytime I got one.  
**

* * *

Gimli, son of Gloin, was already grumpy enough traveling with one elf—and now another one? And a she-elf at that. He didn't doubt she could handle herself, judging by the various daggers and blades she carried on her, not to mention the mahogany bow strapped across her back and the quiver full of arrows, but even so. She was a _she-elf._ Since her brothers had left back the way they came, she had mostly kept to herself, her face thoughtful and her arms crossed across her chest. Gimli didn't even think she had slept the night before after Aragorn had put out the fire—she was awake when Gimli had gone to sleep and she was awake when he had woken up.

She spoke to the other elf plenty though. Gimli snorted. From what he understood, they weren't even from the same areas. But they were _elves_, of course they were in cahoots with each other.

She could smile though, and a pretty little smile it was. Gimli saw it when she spoke to the Hobbits, or when Aragorn told her something she found to be funny. It looked much more natural on her face than the serious expression she wore by herself.

"Gandalf," he turned to the wizard, who grunted in acknowledgement. "What are we doing with this she-elf here? If she's getting all worked up and crying over just being here, I don't know if I trust her going into battle. I don't want a simpering girl watching my back." He paused. "Come to think of it, for Rivendell's finest warriors, I wasn't real impressed by the brothers either. They were too upset about leaving her here."

Gandalf puffed out a small smoke ring from his pipe. "Miraleth is the babe of the House of Elrond, and they treat her and protect her as such. Elrohir and Elladan are by far the worst offenders of this, and leaving her here on the path to Mordor where she is unsafe was perhaps one of the most difficult things they have ever had to do."

"But look at her! She's so little. Scrawny, even," Gimli scoffed, not noticing Gandalf's raised eyebrows at hearing a comment such as this from a Dwarf, who was by far the shortest of the Fellowship. "Can she even lift a sword?"

Gandalf only glanced at the dwarf and continued to puff on his pipe. "Oh, you want Miraleth on your side in battle, believe me, Master Dwarf, and you'd do well to remember that in the future."

"Miraleth, come and eat something," Samwise Gamgee called over to the edge of the cliff, where Miraleth continued to sit. He was loyal and sweet, Miraleth had quickly learned, and always willing to look out for everyone else, including her.

She turned and smiled at him. "Thank you, Sam," she stood and took the plate of sausage, potatoes, and bread from him. After their first night of traveling when Aragorn had made a rather bleak-tasting rabbit stew, the Hobbits had taken over the duty of cooking, Legolas had told her. And while she and Legolas were not used to the savory, spiced flavor of the Shire's cuisine, it was still better than Aragorn's rabbit stew.

Miraleth followed the sounds of clanging metal to where Boromir was teaching Merry and Pippin to handle swords. "1…2…3…4!" Boromir counted each of his swings, which Merry parried. "Good! Very good!" Boromir laughed and turned to do the same for Pippin.

"Move your feet," Aragorn said around his pipe.

"That's good, Pippin!" Merry said.

"Now faster!" Boromir grinned and advanced immediately. It went on like this for a time, with Boromir shouting out words of encouragement and Aragorn offering helpful advice.

Miraleth was drawn back in when Pippin dropped his sword with a pained, "Agh!"

Boromir's eyes widened. "Sorry!"

But Pippin ran forward and kicked him in the shin, and Boromir fell to his knees. "Get him!" Pippin shouted, and Merry knocked him over with his sword. The two Hobitts tackled Boromir to the ground.

"For the Shire!" Merry shouted as they laughed. Miraleth was clapping her hands as she glimpsed a wisp of something dark from the corner of her eye. Curious, she stood and took a few steps. She squinted and held her hand up to shield the sun as her smile faded.

"What is that?" Sam asked Legolas, who had gone to stand at the edge of the cliff face to stare at the mass of black as well.

"Nothing," Gimli waved it away. "It's just a wisp of cloud."

The raucous laughter from the sparring match had died down, and Boromir had fought to his feet. "It's moving fast," he said anxiously. "Against the wind."

Frodo tugged on Miraleth's arm. "What do you see?"

"It's not a cloud," Miraleth shook her head and began to back away. "It's—"

"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas shouted.

"Hide!" Aragorn yelled, and the camp was thrown into movement. Boromir shouted for Merry and Pippin to hide the packs in some brush, and Sam put out the fire while Aragorn shouted for everyone to take cover. Legolas grabbed Miraleth by the arm and ran with her to another bit of brush. They threw themselves into it and tugged the branches down above them.

Not three seconds later, the darkness reached them, and Miraleth could see that it was a cloud—a cloud of crows. They cawed and cried and flew as low as the ground, sharp talons and wicked eyes gleaming. It seemed that they were crouching in the brush for an age until the crows finally flew off, satisfied with the emptiness of the campsite.

As soon as they were gone, Miraleth turned to Legolas and none too lightly smacked him on the arm.

"What was that for?"

"A simple please would have sufficed. There was no need to grab me." She complained and left their hiding spot.

Gandalf had crawled out from behind his rock and everyone crowded in a circle around him. "Spies of Saruman. The passage south is being watched." He cast his eyes around the Fellowship before turning his gaze towards the snowy mountains behind him. "We must take the Pass of Caradhras." Gandalf gestured for the Hobbits to collect the packs from the brush and started for the mountain.

Miraleth could do nothing but watch in disbelief. _"We must take the Pass of Caradhras." _They were taking Caradhras Pass

"What's wrong with you, she-elf?" Gimli grunted as he passed her.

She shook her head. "My father is a very clever man."

"Oh? And why's that?"

She could have laughed. "Because Caradhras Pass brings you straight to the northern border of Lothlórien." She was going to hug her father when she saw him again. She was not on the road to Mordor after all.

They spent the remainder of the day getting up the side of Caradhras to take the snowy, perilous pass. By the afternoon, the Hobbits were winded from trudging through the snow at the high altitude. At one point, Frodo had fallen and nearly rolled off the side of the peak they were on until Aragorn stopped him. When Frodo stood again, he felt his chest with both his hands, growing more and more panicked until he saw Boromir holding a chain. Miraleth had completely stopped in her tracks, her heart beating fast as Boromir eyed the One Ring.

"Boromir," Aragorn had said, but Boromir had ignored him, with eyes only for the Ring.

"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing," Boromir had whispered so quietly Miraleth almost couldn't hear him. He brought the Ring closer to his face and reached up to touch it. "Such a little thing…"

"Boromir," Aragorn snapped again, and Boromir turned his gaze away from the Ring just as Miraleth's hand was wandering toward her blade. Boromir looked at Aragorn, half-dazed and half-confused. "Give the Ring to Frodo," Aragorn lowered his voice, but the warning tone remained.

After a moment of hesitation, Boromir put on a shaky smile and held the silver chain out to Frodo. "As you wish," he said lightly. "I care not." After a tenuous moment of being under Aragorn's dark gaze, Boromir chuckled and reached out to ruffle Frodo's hair.

They started moving again. But Miraleth ran up to where Gandalf led the Fellowship. "I do not trust him," She whispered anxiously. "His soul aches for the One Ring, _Mithrandir,_ you can see it on his face everytime he looks at it."

"Oh, it is his heart's deepest desire," Gandalf agreed nonchalantly, as if they were conversing on the weather. "But he would be a fool to try and take it here with all of us sworn to protect Frodo, and he knows it."

"But a fool he is," Miraleth hissed.

Gandalf smiled crookedly at her from under the brim of his hat. "Aren't we all, my dear?"

Miraleth had no reply for that and she fell back to where the other three Hobbits trudged through the snow to keep a hand on their backs so they would not fall. "Come on, little Hobbits," she murmured. "No slowing down now."

But they did slow down. The higher they got up Caradhras, the harder the snow fell, the harsher the wind blew, and the colder the air grew, until Boromir and Aragorn were carrying the Hobbits on their backs and Gimli was fighting his way through the snow with his axe, unleashing battle cries with every swing.

"_Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse!" _A distant voice traveled through the air, harsh and malevolent.

"Legolas!" Miraleth called from where she led Bill, the pony, through the blizzard.

"I hear it!" He called back.

"What? What do you hear?" Gimli shouted, his head barely visible above the snowy ground he was buried in.

"There is a foul voice on the air," Legolas said and looked out towards the south, eyes searching for a source.

"_Nai yarvaxea rasselya!" _

Miraleth shuddered at the ancient words. She would hate to feel the soul of one who spoke such terrible magic.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf shouted just as there was an earsplitting crack from above them. They pressed themselves against the side of the mountain and the Hobbits yelled as snowy rocks fell from above them.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled through the wind and snow.

Miraleth braced her hand upon the stone of the mountainside and immediately wanted to push herself away. The mountain's cruelty and anger reverberated throughout her and she felt her stomach churn. "Gandalf!" She shouted. "Caradhras is cruel and Saruman is only feeding it strength! Speak back or we will perish in this blizzard!"

"Do not bother trying to calm it!" Aragorn waved her off. "We must turn back!"

"No!" Gandalf roared stubbornly and dragged himself to stand, fighting against the harsh wind. _"Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i'ruith!"_ He commanded into the wind against Saruman's voice.

But Saruman was powerful, and had the strength of Sauron behind him._"Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse! Nai yarvaxea rasselya taltuva notto-carinnar!"_ His voice only seemed to grow louder and at last, a bolt of lightning struck the top of the mountain, and a wave of ice and snow crashed upon them.

Miraleth saw only white, and felt only the icy burn of Caradhras against her skin. When she finally clawed her way to the surface, Legolas was the first person she saw, and then Frodo and Sam, gasping and coughing and nearly blue in the face from the cold.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir urged Gandalf. "Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the West Road to my city!"

Aragorn looked as if he wanted to hit Boromir. "The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!"

Gimli shook his axe and looked between Aragorn and Gandalf. "We can't pass over the mountain. Let us go under it! Let us go through the mines of Moria!" Gandalf stilled at this and regarded Gimli with a troubled face.

"What?" Miraleth shook her head. She couldn't believe they were even speaking about Moria. Her father had told her about what the Dwarves had awoken there in the depths of the mithril mines. "Gandalf, we cannot pass through Moria!"

"Eh, what do you know? You're an elf!" Gimli frowned at her. "My cousin Balin will give us a welcome fit for kings!"

She shook her head at the stubborn Dwarf, her face set. "You will not find your cousin Balin there, Master Dwarf."

Before Gimli could begin to think on her words, Gandalf spoke. "Let the ring bearer decide."

Frodo Baggins was silent for a moment as he squirmed under the weight of the decision. Clearly, there was something in Moria that Gandalf and Miraleth wanted desperately to avoid, and they were, without a doubt, the two members of the party that Frodo trusted most with matters of knowledge.

"We cannot stay here!" Boromir yelled through the silence, reminding Frodo that he didn't have all day to decide. "This will be the death of the Hobbits!"

And then Frodo shivered and he looked at his fellow Shirefolk, who were close to passing out from the cold, and he gazed apologetically at Miraleth and Gandalf.

"Frodo?" Gandalf's voice was gruff.

Frodo hesitated before speaking, but whether that was because of a guilty conscience or the cold freezing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, he couldn't tell. "We will go through the mines," He said when he had found his voice again.

A shadow fell over Gandalf's face and Miraleth turned away, but the ring bearer had decided. "So be it," Gandalf uttered.

They made their way down the mountain carefully, aware that it could collapse on them at any second, and once they were past all the snow, Aragorn and Boromir put the Hobbits down to walk for themselves, and after handing Bill's reins over to Boromir, Miraleth resumed her position behind the four Hobbits, keeping a gentle hand at their backs and coaxing them along when they slowed down.

Finally, just when it was growing dark and Merry was trying to hide yawns in his hands ("Are you yawning, Merry?" "What? No, no…I was simply, erm, stretching my mouth, that's all…mind your own mouth, Pippin.") Gimli stopped in his tracks and pointed at the stone in front of them. "The walls of Moria!" He exclaimed, awed.

Now that Miraleth looked upon the stone mountainside as a wall, it was gigantic, bigger than any house or building she had ever seen before. Her eyes traveled up and up, higher and higher, but she couldn't even begin to see the top of the stone before it was hidden by clouds. Gimli rambled on to anyone who would listen about the mystical wonders of Moria until they finally reached the rock face. "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed, you know," He tapped the stone with his axe, proud of his race.

"Yes, Gimli," Gandalf grumbled irritably as he and Aragorn and Legolas felt along the wall for some sort of crack or crevice. "Their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas scoffed and turned to look at Gimli, who waddled off and grumbled about the incompetence of elves. "Does that surprise you, Miraleth?"

"Not at all," She shook her head, still grumpy from being dragged—literally; She had not budged from the snowy pass of Caradhras until Aragorn dragged her by the arm—to the mines of Moria that she so feared. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and her head was reeling with the feeling that something was not right. Legolas said it was just from knowing she was going to be underground, away from her beloved sunlight and the fresh air she had breathed all her life. She did not think so, but the thought certainly hadn't helped.

There was suddenly a splash of water, and Frodo yelped and gasped, his eyes traveling the surface of the still pool they had been walking alongside. "Come along, little Hobbit," Miraleth pulled him away from the murky waters, not liking the way the shadows moved in its depths. "Stay away from the water."

"Ah!" Gandalf gasped at last when they reached the end of the wall. He ran his hand over a flat section of stone, fingers splaying across faint, silvery lines that were barely visible underneath the coating of dirt above them. "Now…let's see…_Ithildin._ It mirrors only starlight," he muttered to himself and turned to look up at the cloudy night sky. "And moonlight." He made a gesture at the clouds and they faded away to let the moon shine upon them. There was a cracking sound and the silvery designs lit up, glowing beneath the moon, revealing an arched doorway with Elvish inscribed at the top.

Gandalf stepped back with a smile, happy with his handiwork. He pointed to the Elvish with his staff. "It reads, 'The door of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'"

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked.

"Well, it's quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak a password, and the doors will open," he explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He braced the head of his staff at the center of the door and spoke. _"Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen!"_

The door did not move or react in any way.

"Hmm?" Gandalf mumbled to himself for a bit before raising his hands and trying again.

"Why is he speaking in Elvish? Of course it's not going to open, it's a door of Dwarves," Gimli rumbled.

Miraleth smiled triumphantly, glad to see him frown at something after forcing her to take the path through Moria. "Yes, but who do you suppose made the invisible doors of Dwarves? Magic has never been a strong suit of mine-folk, Master Dwarf."

"_Lasto beth lammen!"_ Gandalf was commanding again. Still nothing happened.

"Nothing's happening," Pippin announced. Aragorn shushed him as Gandalf leaned and pushed his weight against the doors.

"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves, Men, and Orcs," Gandalf complained, frustrated, and ran his hands along the doors looking for a clue to offer itself up.

"What are you going to do then?"

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took, and if that does not shatter them, then I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions!" Gandalf snapped, and Pippin shrank a bit as his face paled. "I will try to find the opening words," Gandalf lowered his voice to pacify Pippin, but his brow was still furrowed in agitation when he set himself to the task of using what seemed like every Elvish phrase he knew to open the doors.

"Aragorn told you to hush, Pippin," Merry whispered and hit him upside the back of his head.

Meanwhile, Aragorn and Sam were unloading all the packs from Bill the pony, who had grown more and more restless the further through Caradhras Pass and the closer to Moria they had gotten.

"The mines are no place for a pony," Aragorn told Sam apologetically, who had gotten quite attached to the small horse over their travels together. "Even one so brave as Bill."

"Bye-bye, Bill." Sam sadly scratched the pony's ears.

"Go on," Aragorn nudged Bill in the direction out of Caradhras Pass once he was unpacked and unsaddled. The pony clopped away, tail flicking leisurely. "Don't worry, Sam," Aragorn put a hand on the Hobbit's shoulder. "He knows the way home."

Miraleth, who had sat herself down onto a pile of rocks beside Frodo and Gandalf, jumped when something splashed in the pond. The Hobbits were throwing rocks into its murky shadows. "Meriadoc Brandybuck!" She snapped, warning in her voice. Merry flushed and lowered the next rock he was aiming to throw.

Aragorn grabbed Pippin's arm just as he was about to throw another one. "You'd do well to heed Miraleth, especially when your cousin does," He hissed, and looked out over the pond. "Do not disturb the water." The Hobbits obediently backed away from the pond and went to where Sam stood with all the packs of bedrolls and supplies.

"Oh, this is useless," Gandalf frowned and threw his staff down. He sat himself down next to Frodo and Miraleth with a loud huff. He snatched his hat off of his head and glared at the stone door.

Frodo shrugged. "Maybe it's a riddle." He looked at Miraleth. "Are you any good with wordplay, Miraleth?"

She shook her head. "I have never been one for riddles. Elladan is quite good at them, though."

Frodo went to stand in front of the door. "The door of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter…" His brow furrowed. "It is a riddle!" He took a step back from the door. "Speak friend and enter. What's the Elvish word for friend?" He asked Gandalf, eyes never leaving the stone before him.

"_Mellon,"_ Gandalf spoke loudly and clearly. As if suddenly awakened, there was a loud cracking, creaking noise and Frodo scrambled back as the door opened outwards.

"Oh ho ho!" Gandalf pointed to the door, as if everyone had not already noticed it open, and followed Frodo inside. Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli ushered the Hobbits in after Gandalf. But Legolas waited for Miraleth, who still sat on the rock, her knees pressed together and her arms crossed.

"Miraleth," He held his hand out.

She stared at the dark doorway everyone had disappeared through. "I don't want to go inside, Legolas." She shook her head. "There's something evil in there. Gandalf doesn't want to face it and neither do I. My father would die if he knew I was going through Moria. He did not mean for me to come this way."

Legolas' hand found hers though, and he pulled her to her feet anyway. "Lord Elrond didn't mean for a lot of things. We'll be out the other side soon enough." He offered her his arm and she took it gratefully as they too disappeared into the dark mine.

* * *

_Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse—_Wake up cruel Redhorn

_Nai yarvaxea rasselya—_May your horn be bloodstained

_Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i'ruith—_Sleep Caradhras, be still, lie still, hold your wrath

_Nai yarvaxea rasselya taltuva notto-carinnar_—May your bloodstained horn fall upon enemy heads

_Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen_—Gate of the elves, open now for me

_Lasto beth lammen—_Listen to the word of my tongue.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So for those of you who don't like to read the parts that are also in the movie, you're probably not going to enjoy the Moria chapters much. Sorry. But I didn't just want to stick in a paragraph that went, "And the Fellowship commenced on a grueling journey through Moria in which most of them were traumatized and Gandalf died. Cool." Because...well you know, Gandalf and trauma and all that fun stuff.  
**

**But try and enjoy anyways because it was fun to write, and drop a review to give me any thoughts. :)  
**

* * *

Gimli was strolling through the dark mine as if taking a pleasant walk through the woods of Imladris. He turned to Legolas and Miraleth with a triumphant grin. "Soon, Master Elves, you will be enjoying the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone! This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin. And they call it a mine." Gimli snorted with disbelief. "A mine!"

But Gandalf had lit his staff with starlight and was casting the light about the chamber, and Miraleth stopped in her tracks, tightening her grip on Legolas' arm and stopping him with her. Everywhere she looked, rotted, decayed bodies littered the floor and dark, rust-colored stains covered the stone—dried blood.

"This is no mine," Boromir shook his head as realization dawned on him. "It's a tomb."

Upon realizing this, the Hobbits gasped and jumped away. Arrows stuck out of the bodies, which lay in broken, grotesque positions. Miraleth spied one corpse with an axe sticking out of its skull, and another with its head turned all the way around.

"No," Gimli stared around in horror at the so-called home of his cousin Balin. "No!" He jumped over the corpses and ran about the entrance hall, leaning down to study a corpse of what was doubtlessly a Dwarf. "No!" He roared.

Legolas ran over to the nearest shot corpse and knelt to rip an arrow from its chest. He studied the black iron tip. "Goblins." He threw down the arrow in disgust and drew his bow at the exact moment Miraleth drew hers and Aragorn and Boromir drew their swords. Miraleth nocked two arrows just to be safe.

"Is this the darkness that lies in these mines?" Legolas asked Miraleth.

She shook her head. "No. Not goblins. But they do not help matters, do they? I told you that you would not find your cousin Balin here, Gimli," She snapped when he continued to roar over the corpses of his kin. "There is evil that has taken over your beloved mines of Moria."

Boromir was brandishing his sword at every pebble that moved. "We make for the Gap of Rohan," he said grimly, backing towards the entrance of Moria. "We should never have come here!"

Aragorn pushed the Hobbits towards the entrance of the mine. "Get out. Get out!" He shouted, his eyes not leaving the entrance hall. Suddenly, Frodo was yanked from Sam's arm.

"Frodo! _Frodo!"_

Miraleth turned to see something drag Frodo away by the leg. He yelled, the Hobbits shouted and rushed after him, grabbing for his arms and chopping at a tentacle that had Frodo by the ankle.

_"Strider!"_ Sam yelled for Aragorn just as he and Boromir were sprinting towards Frodo. With one final chop from Sam, the tentacle released Frodo and retreated into the water.

Miraleth and Legolas stopped when the water was still again—but only for a split second before not one, but twelve tentacles surged from the murky pond, moving and writhing and heading straight for Frodo again. In another second, they had knocked the Hobbits aside and lifted Frodo into the air by the leg. He screamed.

Legolas shot at the tentacle holding Frodo, but one arrow was only a minor annoyance to the creature holding him.

"Come on!" Aragorn shouted and led Boromir into the water, chopping and slicing at tentacles as they ran.

Miraleth aimed and shot the two arrows she had nocked earlier—the tentacle dropped Frodo, only so he could be held hostage again by another writhing appendage. This one lowered Frodo to where the creature's head had surfaced. It opened its jaws wide and revealed rows upon rows of terrible, jagged fangs.

"No!" Boromir roared and sprinted forward to chop off the tentacle holding Frodo at the base. Frodo fell from the open air into Boromir's arms, who backpedaled as fast as he could out of the water.

"Into the mines!" Gandalf commanded, and raced into the darkness once more.

"Aim for its head," Legolas rushed out and Miraleth nocked another arrow, letting it fly for the spot straight between the creature's awful eyes. It let out a roar and reared back, giving Aragorn just enough time to race out of the water. Legolas shot it again, and Miraleth shot it again, and again, and again. By now they were nocking three arrows for each shot, and still the creature kept coming. Miraleth backed into the mine as someone shouted to run, and she shot arrow after arrow even as the creature surged from the water and braced its tentacles inside the doorway of the mine. Just as it was trying to force itself inside the mine, there was someone shouting for Miraleth and pulling on her sleeve and there was a terrible cracking noise as the doorway to Moria began to collapse.

_"Faster!"_ someone shouted and they raced further into the mine to escape the falling rocks until the entrance had completely collapsed.

It was deathly quiet.

It was pitch black.

And the only thing Miraleth was sure of was that she still had an arrow nocked and a death grip on her bow.

They stayed a moment, unsure, in the mine that stank of evil until a light shined in the darkness—Gandalf's staff. "We now have but one choice," Gandalf's voice was deep and solemn. He hit the bottom of his staff on the stone floor and the light brightened, illuminating his tired, weary face. The sound of his staff echoed through the mine. "We must face the long, dark of Moria."

As Miraleth's eyes adjusted, she could see Aragorn lifting up the packs onto his back and Boromir urging the Hobbits, who huddled together in a wet and frightened mass, forward to follow Gandalf. Legolas was completely still, watching Gandalf as he moved forward. Gimli was still in a state of shock, his eyes downcast and his face sorrowful.

Miraleth lightened the grip on her bow and slipped it over her back, sliding the arrow back into the quiver. She stepped forward to put a gentle hand on Gimli's shoulder. He did not protest.

"Be on your guard," Gandalf continued. "There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world." He turned and exchanged a meaningful glance with Miraleth, whose face hardened to hide the fright in her eyes.

The Fellowship followed Gandalf slowly, uncertainly, stepping between and over the twisted corpses that still littered the area. Miraleth saw Pippin cover his face with his hand while Merry guided him forward.

"Quietly now," Gandalf whispered when Boromir kicked at a helmet on the ground. The sound echoed for much longer than Miraleth would've liked, and she drew a shaky breath. "It's a four day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed."

After climbing the broad stairs at the end of the entrance hall, the mine opened up into an enormous, dank, dark cavern. Miraleth was certain the whole of Rivendell could have fit inside.

"Miraleth," Gandalf called. "A word, my dear." He put an arm around her shoulders and lowered his voice to a murmur when she had worked her way up the narrow path of stone they were creeping along. "I do not doubt that your father has told you all about what sleeps in the depths of Moria. The thing of shadow the Dwarves awoke when their mines dug down too deeply."

She looked at the old wizard, frightened to speak aloud the thought that had been in her mind since they had entered the mines of Moria. Instead she only put on a brave face, forced her chin up, and murmured a confirmation. "Yes."

He regarded her heavily. He knew her terror despite the bravery on her face and did not blame her for it. "…Yes." He echoed. "If all goes well through Moria we will escape out the other side unnoticed, and the darkness that lies here will remain sleeping. We should do well to keep the knowledge of its existence between you and I, hmm? No need to cause any unnecessary panic amongst the Hobbits."

She nodded. "Yes, Gandalf."

"There's a good girl," He patted her on the shoulder and she slowed, letting Gandalf go ahead, until Legolas caught up with her.

"What did Gandalf say?" He put a hand on her back to gently urge her forward before she reached the back of the Fellowship, where she would be outside the sight and range of Aragorn and Legolas.

She shook her head. "Nothing. Just…asking about my father." She lied smoothly.

"Oh. Well speed up a bit, I don't like the smell of this place…" Legolas cast an uneasy look around the cavern and fell silent with the rest of the Fellowship until they were through to the other side of the huge hall. After the cavern, they followed a winding staircase until they reached the mines themselves. The Fellowship crept their way along the side of the mine, where the only walkable ground was. The rest of the mine was a deep, dark pit laden with ladders and buckets and chains at the edges.

Gandalf stopped in front of Legolas and Miraleth to run his hand over a section of spidery, silvery ore that was woven into the rock. "The wealth of Moria was not in gold, or jewels," He turned from the rock face and cast the light from his staff into the pit before them. "But mithril." The light from Gandalf's staff illuminated what was below them—miles and miles of mithril ore, farther than the eye could see. Miraleth nearly fell over the edge leaning to get a better look—Legolas pulled her back by the wrist. The ore glittered and shined like starlight, and she smiled softly, comforted that such beauty could exist in a place so dark as Moria.

"Bilbo had a set of mithril rings that Thorin gave him," Gandalf continued as he began walking again.

Gimli's mouth formed an 'o' shape. "Oh, that was a kingly gift!"

"Yes," Gandalf agreed. "I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire." He laughed.

The Fellowship grew silent once more as they passed out of the mines. After countless more miles of winding paths, dreadfully steep staircases, and mines, each bigger than the last, Miraleth began to lose her sense of time. Was the sun in the sky outside? Or was it after dark? How long had they been walking through the stone paths of Moria? Gandalf said three days—why did it feel like three centuries? (But at least her nightmares had quieted down some. Gone were the bloody, gruesome images. Now she Saw only a scrawny, twisted, gray-skinned figure scrambling and climbing over the stone walls in the mines of Moria, his bug-like, watery eyes bitter and malevolent.)

More than once, Legolas had cast her worried glances. "Are you feeling alright? Your face is pale." He would say.

And Miraleth would nod, though her stomach continued to churn and her lungs continued to reject the stale, stagnant air of the mines. "Quite alright," She would reply. But Legolas would offer her his arm for support anyway, because he knew her better than that, and she would take it, grateful to have him there with her in the dark mines.

On the fourth day, they came to a small chamber with three identical doorways. Gandalf paused before them, face setting in a frown. "I have no memory of this place," he whispered, his brow furrowed.

"We could flip a coin," Pippin suggested innocently. "That always helps me decide things."

"No, no, I would not leave our path through Moria to a game of chance," Gandalf shook his head and lowered himself down onto a rock facing the doorways. "We best wait here until we can think of another course of action."

Boromir glanced uneasily down the steep staircase they had come from and ushered the Hobbits further into the chamber. "Sam, why don't you make a fire," he suggested quietly. "No use in discomfort as long as we're stopped."

Sam nodded and went to find the pack with the firewood. Miraleth sat in front of the small pile of wood Sam was tending to, and Merry and Pippin sat across from one another, rolling a small stone back and forth. Legolas, dutiful as ever, went to stand at the top of the staircase, watching for any sign of movement in the deep dark, his arms crossed across his chest.

The silence proved to be too much for Pippin, who tossed the stone away when Merry rolled it to him. "Merry," he whispered.

"What?"

"Are we lost?"

"No."

"I think we are."

"Shhh!" Sam hissed. "Gandalf's thinking."

"Merry,"

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

Merry rolled his eyes and dug into his pack for a spare piece of bread for Pippin. "Here," He tossed it over to him, annoyed. Pippin grinned.

Frodo suddenly scrambled up and went to where Gandalf sat. They began to converse in hushed tones, Frodo significantly more anxious about whatever it was that was bothering him than Gandalf seemed to be. After exchanging a curious glance, Merry and Pippin crawled over to sit on either side of Miraleth, the closest elf to them.

"Miraleth?" Pippin whispered.

"What?"

"What are Frodo and Gandalf saying?"

She eyed the Hobbit. "You are too curious for your own good, Peregrin Took. Always wanting to know other people's business." She heard Aragorn snort.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What are they saying?"

Annoyed, she glanced behind her at Frodo and Gandalf, listening for a moment to their hushed tones. She turned back towards the fire, uninterested. "They are speaking of Gollum."

Merry and Pippin looked at each other. "What's Gollum?"

"Never you mind, Merry," She advised. "He is no threat to you. Mind your own business."

"He?" She heard Merry whisper to Pippin when she got up and walked towards where Legolas stood watch. "Gollum's a he?"

Legolas brushed her arm with his fingers when she reached him, though his eyes did not leave the darkness they had come out of. "Gollum?" He asked, having overheard her conversation with Merry and Pippin.

Miraleth pointed down to where a lanky, grotesque figure pulled itself up over a rock and scuttled out of sight. "Since we entered Moria."

Legolas drew his bow and nocked an arrow—Miraleth hurriedly put a hand on his arm. "No," She breathed sharply. "He will be useful to Frodo yet."

Legolas hesitated, but his trust of Miraleth's judgement won out over his hatred of the creature called Gollum and he slipped his bow over his back once more. "We had him in Mirkwood," Legolas said bitterly. "For years after Gandalf brought him to us, do you remember?"

"Yes." Miraleth had been in Mirkwood with Arwen when Gandalf had appeared out of nowhere, Gollum in tow. The awful little thing had spat and cursed at everything, screaming and howling for his precious and cursing Bilbo Baggins to the ends of the earth. "Why did Thranduil set him loose?"

"He didn't. The thing escaped." And then Mordor had gotten to him and tortured him until he screamed the name "Baggins"—Miraleth knew the story after that.

"Ah!" She and Legolas turned when Gandalf stood cheerily. "It's that way!"

"He's remembered!" Merry grinned.

"No," Gandalf lit his staff again and stood at the doorway, looking down into the darkness. "But the air doesn't smell so foul down here." He put his hat on and leaned down. "When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

Aragorn stamped out the fire, and they were on their way again. The doorway Gandalf had picked led them down a winding staircase that Miraleth didn't think was ever going to end until finally, it opened up into a giant cavern that made the first cavern they had passed through in Moria seem like a broom closet.

"Let me risk a little more light," Gandalf said, and when his staff brightened, Miraleth saw that it wasn't a cavern at all—it was a great, magnificent hall, with grand pillars supporting the ceiling. "Behold…the great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf," Gandalf raised his staff. Miraleth heard Gimli gasp, and she could understand why he was so proud to be kin to the master of these halls. It was easy to imagine fires keeping the walls alight while a great feast progressed, laughter roaring through the hall and Dwarves running to and fro.

"There's an eye-opener, and no mistake," Sam whispered, awed by the vastness of the place. Gandalf led them forward, and it seemed to never end. She found herself feeling small; smaller than she had ever felt before and smaller than she ever would feel again. She was just about to express her thoughts to Legolas when Gimli shouted and ran towards a sliver of light in the dark hall— a cracked door way surrounded by corpses.

"Gimli!" Gandalf said sharply, but Gimli ran on into the smaller chamber and out of sight. Hands by their weapons, the Fellowship ran after him. Miraleth nearly backpedaled out of the chamber when the stench of death hit her. Corpses and debris were scattered around like dead flowers in a meadow of stone. Something terrible had happened here—pillars had been torn down and lay on their sides, and bricks fell from holes in the walls.

"No!" Gimli moaned and collapsed to his knees in front of a stone crypt. The crypt was dusty and dirty from its years in the deserted mines and cracks had been weathered into the stone from bugs and wind from drafts in the room, but Gimli knelt before it with a reverence as if it had been made from solid gold and encrusted in jewels. He put his face in his hands and sobbed quietly, moaning his sorrow as Gandalf and the rest of their party filtered into the room.

Gandalf leaned over Gimli to peer at the runes on the crypt. "_Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria._" Gimli wailed again, and Gandalf slipped off his hat, bowing his head towards the tomb of the great Dwarf Balin. When he lifted his head again, his eyes swept around the destroyed chamber. "He is dead then. It's as I feared." He frowned grimly, and handed his staff and hat to Pippin. Gandalf leaned down and pried a grimy, dusty tome from the arms of a corpse, who had died holding it close to him. Miraleth's stomach twisted when the arms of the corpse cracked and released the book.

Legolas leaned up towards Aragorn when Gandalf opened the book, pages and dirt falling from its broken spine. "We must move on. We cannot linger," he hissed and glanced uneasily around the chamber.

If Gandalf heard the elf, he did not say so, and his old eyes sought out the faded runes in the book as he began to read. "_They have taken the bridge, and the second hall._" Gimli looked up at Gandalf in horror—was he really going to force him to listen to how his people fell?—and Boromir put a hand on his shoulder. Gandalf did not pay Gimli any mind. "_We have barred the gates,_"Gandalf continued, his voice heavy with the weight of the words he read. "_But we cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums…drums…in the deep._" The Hobbits huddled close together, and Boromir, Legolas, and Aragorn grew increasingly uneasy the longer Gandalf read from the heavy tome—and it was becoming increasingly clearer that he was reading the last words of a dwarf here in this chamber. "_We cannot get out. The shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out…_"

Miraleth crept over to his side and peered at the runes over his shoulder. The last line was a crooked scrawl that faded into nothing. Blood was smeared over it, dark and rust-colored.

"_They are coming._"

_CLANG!_

Miraleth spun with a dagger drawn in her hand towards Pippin, where he stood by a well and a very recently beheaded corpse. His face was ashen and he stood stock-still as the head fell through the mines. Just as it began to quiet down, the body fell into the well, and then a heavy chain that had been tied to the arm, and then an iron bucket at the end of the chain. Each rattle and clang echoed a thousand times over, into every crack and crevice in Moria, and Pippin flinched with every echo.

After what seemed like an age, the noises stopped. The Hobbits relaxed, and Aragorn let out an anxious breath he had been holding. Boromir closed his eyes and murmured a prayer. The tension left Legolas' shoulders and Miraleth squeezed her eyes shut. They had been so close to the end of the mines. Any chance of passing through Moria unnoticed was gone now.

Gandalf snapped the dusty tome shut and glared sharply at poor Pippin. "Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" He snatched his staff and hat back from Pippin, who had not found the courage to meet Gandalf's eyes since the noises stopped.

Miraleth was just drawing in breath for a sigh when the entire Fellowship stopped. No one said a word. No one moved a muscle. No one even drew a breath as they all tried to hear what surely must have been their imaginations, overactive and paranoid from the four days of travel through Moria.

…_Boom._

Miraleth's ears twitched and the slightest breath left her parted lips.

_Boom._

Gandalf and Pippin slowly turned towards the well, creeping forward to stare down into it. Gandalf's words echoed in Miraleth's mind: _Drums…drums…in the deep. _

_Boom…_

The beats were growing louder, and Aragorn and Legolas went to stand on either side of Miraleth, who for once did not scold them for their overprotectiveness. Her hands instead found the hilts of her blades and her eyes roamed the stone walls of the chamber.

…_Boom, boom, boom._

Just as Miraleth was beginning to feel a bead of terror blossom in her mind, the beats paused and she nearly let out a breath, until—

_Boom-boom-boom-__**boom-boom-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM**_.

This time, the drumbeats grew to a heavy fortissimo and did not stop. Like a heartbeat, they continued at a steady beat and accompanied the wails and sounds of creatures deep in the mines. _They are coming_. Boromir was taking shaky breaths and Aragorn was turning this way and that, casting the light from the torch he held about the chamber, looking for something to appear out of the darkness.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed, and Miraleth turned to see Frodo draw his blade Sting, which pulsed with a faint, blue glow, just as a familiar battle cry pierced the air in the distance.

Legolas nocked an arrow in his bow. "Orcs!"

"Boromir!" Miraleth called when he raced to the double doors of the chamber. His eyes searched the great hall of Dwarrowdelf, and he jumped backwards when two arrows embedded themselves in the wood of the doors only inches from the tip of his nose.

"Get back!" Aragorn ordered the Hobbits and pushed them behind him as he threw his torch aside and ran to help Boromir barricade the doors. "Stay with Gandalf!"

Something roared. "They have a cave troll." Boromir smiled grimly. Legolas," he called, and Legolas left Miraleth's side to pick heavy axes off the ground and throw them to Boromir, who helped Aragorn brace them across the doors.

When something rammed against the doors, nearly throwing Aragorn and Boromir off their feet, Gandalf yelled and drew his silver sword. The Hobbits, while frightened and huddled in a corner, found the courage to do the same. The blue glow of Frodo's sword had grown the closer the Orcs had gotten. Miraleth slowly drew her sister's twin blades and swung them in an arc, testing the balance, her eyes never leaving the doors.

Gimli jumped onto the tomb of Balin and brandished his axe, his sorrow hardening into anger. "Bah! Let them come!" He challenged. "There is one Dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

Aragorn had drawn a bow, and Boromir his sword. Miraleth thought it was strange seeing Aragorn hold a bow in his hands, but could not find the voice to tease him now. Axes began to crunch through the doors, and when their wielders had managed to make a decent-sized hole in the wood, Legolas let an arrow fly through, hitting flesh on the other side. An Orc screamed.

The foes on the other side of the doors suddenly paused for their fallen comrade and a split second after their axes withdrew from the splintered wood, the doors were torn from their hinges and thrown to the ground. Orcs flooded into the chamber. Legolas and Aragorn shot arrow after arrow as Miraleth and Boromir charged into the swarm of creatures. Boromir yelled and roared as he chopped and hacked at the Orcs, but Miraleth was a silent, deadly flurry of movement and steel. Gimli could only stare as she seemed to fly over the floor, leaving a trail of corpses in her wake. She was so fast he could barely follow her movements, so quiet it was impossible to predict where and when she was about to strike, and she made every move look so _effortless_, like she was slicing through water_. _And now he knew what Gandalf had meant at their campsite four days ago—he very much wanted Miraleth on his side in battle. She had been crying and emotional when she watched her brothers ride away, but she was fearless now, her face a stony mask of a merciless warrior. He was snapped out of his reverie when she turned and shrieked, "Stop staring and kill something, son of Gloin!" before turning and slicing off the head of an orc who had been about to embed his axe into her back.

"No need to tell me twice!" He bellowed, and leapt into the fray, chopping an arm from the nearest orc with a yell.

Miraleth saw Gandalf rush into the fighting, armed with sword and staff, and she smiled wryly when she heard four battle cries from her little hobbits as they charged an orc who had had spotted them. But after that, Miraleth had no time to look after anybody but herself. The stream of orcs was endless and for each body she left dead on the floor, it seemed like three more appeared from the shadows to take its place.

She was just wrenching her blades out of the stomach of a particularly heavyset orc—she wrinkled her nose when his entrails spilled onto the floor and stained her boots—when there was a terrible roar and a crash of stone. She turned to see a monstrous cave troll smash through the doorway. It bellowed and spittle coated the side of Miraleth's face. (She made a face and squeaked as she wiped it off with the tunic of the nearest dead orc. Later, Boromir would tease her about being worried about cave troll spit when she was already covered in blood and grime.) Legolas aimed and shot the troll in the shoulder, but it only roared louder, annoyed, and started forward, waving its enormous club in the air.

"Sam!" Frodo yelled, and Sam dived out of the way just in time as the troll's club came crashing down where he'd been standing in awe and shock of the creature that roared and bellowed.

"Miraleth!" Aragorn shouted and she bounded over to where he and Boromir were wrestling an orc for the chains that looped around the troll's neck. She sliced through the orc's throat, halfway beheading him, and he fell back, blood black as oil spraying from his neck. "Come on!" Aragorn gritted his teeth as Miraleth helped the two men pull the troll away from Sam. The chains held strong, and the troll roared angrily when it found itself being dragged away from the cowering halfling. Growling, the troll turned and swung his club through the air. Aragorn ducked, but Boromir was not quite quick enough, and he was thrown off his feet and clear across to the other side of the chamber, where he hit the wall and fell to the floor, motionless.

"Boromir!" Miraleth called, ducking blows from the troll and fighting off the steady inflow of orcs. "Boromir!"

He coughed and pulled himself to a sitting position, shaking his head to clear his vision. "Yes, yes, I'm alive, and alright, and damn it all, s_omeone kill that troll!_" He shouted, not noticing the orc that raised its weapon above him. Before Miraleth could yell a warning, Aragorn flung his sword through the air, impaling the orc and knocking it away from Boromir. The two men nodded at each other.

Meanwhile, Gimli threw his axe at the troll. It stuck in its rough hide, but the troll charged at Gimli, unharmed, and brought its club down on Balin's crypt just as Gimli leapt out of the way. "Not the tomb!" Miraleth heard the dwarf yell irritably.

But then Pippin called for her as he fought off an orc easily three times his size. He yelped and ducked its sword, scrambling backwards away from the creature of Mordor before Miraleth impaled the thing. He spat at the corpse triumphantly in the split second of peace he had before Miraleth ushered him and the other Hobbits behind a slab of rock that had fallen. "Stay here," she rushed out and left them, bounding off to slice through another orc.

She caught a glimpse of blonde hair after stabbing through the next orc that ran at her. "Legolas!" She called as she ran for him, her eyes looking to a raised area—a ledge to shoot from. She jumped and just as she reached the peak of her leap, Legolas' hands were under her feet, and he threw her higher into the air. She grasped the edge of the stone and swung herself up. She reached down to grasp Legolas' forearm, and swung him up onto the ledge as well.

She was shooting arrow after arrow at the orcs that swarmed Aragorn when she heard Gimli shout. The troll was knocking orcs aside with its club in order to get to him. "Shoot it, Legolas!" She urged, and he nocked two arrows, aimed, and shot the troll between the eyes. It reared back, dropping its club and forgetting about Gimli for the moment.

But then there were orcs on the lege—how had they even gotten there?—and Legolas unsheathed a long dagger from inside his quiver to stab and slice through them. Legolas spun around, terrified and shocked, when Miraleth cried out in pain. Her bow had clattered on the ground and she was grasping her forearm, staring at her hand, which was twisted into a position it most certainly was not supposed to be in. Legolas caught her eyes and held her gaze. What had been fast enough and strong enough to even touch her? Not a second after, though, something whipped through the air between Legolas and Miraleth, cracking the stone where it hit it. Legolas and Miraleth followed the recoiling length of iron to the very angry troll that had it wrapped in its hands.

The cave troll had forgotten its club, but discovered the chain around its neck, which was apparently fast enough and strong enough to touch even Miraleth.

Legolas ducked when the chain swung at him again and he stared at the troll, somewhat impressed that it had enough brains to use the chain as a weapon. However, the impressed feeling immediately disappeared when the troll swung at Legolas again, closer this time. Stone and dust sprayed through the air. Legolas jumped out of the way of the next swing, and the chain wrapped around the stone pillar behind him. While the troll tugged and pulled at the stuck chain, Legolas ran across the iron links and jumped up onto the troll's shoulders. The troll turned and twisted and batted at Legolas, but Legolas was quick and sturdy on his feet, and he stayed on the troll's shoulders just long enough to pull back on his bowstring and shoot the troll in the crown of its skull. He jumped from the thing as it stumbled back, shrieking in pain. The chain around his neck groaned, still wrapped around the pillar, and snapped, leaving the troll to trip over its feet for a moment.

Legolas went to return to Miraleth, but she had already hopped from the ledge and was using her good arm to help Sam, who dangerously brandished an iron frying pan. She cradled her injured hand close to her chest, hissing when an orc swatted at it with a club. Legolas shook his head when she chopped off the orc's hand in retribution before running him through with her blade. Even when her bones were broken, she didn't quite understand the notion of backing off.

"Legolas!" Aragorn shouted, and the Elf raced over to help his friend, who was fighting his way towards where the troll had picked up its club again and was going after Frodo, Merry, and Pippin. Frodo was playing a fruitless game of hide-and-seek with the angry troll, and he scurried around a pillar, running around to a different side each time the troll moved to find him. Eventually, the troll grew frustrated with the game and with a roar, he reached out and pulled Frodo by his leg.

"Aragorn! _Aragorn!_" Frodo shouted, holding on to any rock he could grab onto as the troll pulled him closer. Aragorn shouted back, but was busy with his own swarm of enemies. Frodo reached down and slashed the troll's fingers with Sting. The troll dropped him just as he was pulling Frodo over the ledge had been hiding on, and Frodo fell to a pile of rocks, yelping as the stone dug into his back. The moment spent in pain was the moment that gave the troll enough time to pick up its club and raise it over its head. Frodo yelled—and then Aragorn was there, brandishing a long iron spear and shouting at the troll. He thrust the spear into the troll's chest, through its thick hide, and the troll screamed, dropping its club.

"We're here, Frodo, we're here!" Frodo heard Merry and Pippin shout, as if they were what had saved him (he knew they would certainly take the credit later) and they began to throw rocks at the troll's face. Angry, the troll grabbed the spear that was still lodged in its chest, and used it to throw Aragorn across the chamber. Much like Boromir had earlier, Aragorn hit a stone wall and fell. Unlike Boromir, he did not get up and shake himself off, but remained motionless.

Frodo was left defenseless in a corner, as Sting had fallen from his grasp, and the troll only needed a moment to wrench the spear out of its hide, turn it towards Frodo…

…And shove it, point first, into the Ring Bearer's chest.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This is pretty much just more transcript and Moria description. Sowwy. It had to be done.**

* * *

Merry and Pippin threw themselves onto the troll's shoulders from the ledge they stood on and hacked and chopped at the troll's neck with their blunt blades, and Sam yelled Frodo's name as he and Gimli fought off the remaining orcs around them.

It was Miraleth who sliced through the last standing orc in the chamber, the whistle of her blades parting the air screaming for her, and she ran to Frodo's side, ignoring the cave troll that still roared and bellowed. Gandalf threw himself to his knees next to her, his eyes wide with shock. She heard Boromir and the other three Hobbits stab at the troll, yelling all the while, and she heard the twang of bowstring and whiz of an arrow as Legolas shot at the soft flesh inside the troll's mouth the next time it unhinged its jaws to roar. The roar did not come though, and after stumbling for a few moments, the troll fell forward, dead.

By the time Aragorn crawled over to where Frodo lay, Miraleth had rolled him over onto his back. She held his face in her good hand. His eyes were closed. "Frodo. _Frodo!_" She cried desperately. She pushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead. _"__Lasto beth nîn, peredhil," _Her voice was gentle and the Elvish flowed from her lips like water, but Gandalf could hear the panic in her tone. She was not quite the healer that her father and sister were. _"Lasto beth nîn. Tolo dan na ngalad. Dartho! Dartho!"_

Aragorn put a hand on Frodo's chest, about to tear the fabric of his shirt open to examine the stab wound, but Frodo coughed violently and stirred, stopping Aragorn in his actions. Miraleth raked a hand through his hair and looked at his face, looking for any sign of serious injury.

She heard Sam relax behind her. "He…he's alive," he grinned, relieved.

"I'm alright," Frodo gasped when Aragorn helped him into a sitting position. "I'm not hurt."

Aragorn and Miraleth exchanged a confusion-filled glance before Aragorn shook his head. "You should be dead," He whispered, wonder clear in his voice. He chuckled. "That spear would have skewered a wild boar."

Gandalf shook his head and stilled Frodo with a knowing gaze. "I think there's more to this Hobbit than meets the eye." Frodo broke away from Gandalf's stare to unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt. The silvery sheerness of mithril shined back at Miraleth, and she let out an amazed laugh and ran her hand through Frodo's hair again.

"Mithril…" Gimli echoed her thoughts. "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins." The Dwarf's eyes crinkled with his smile.

But their moment of shocked happiness was short lived as the cries of orcs pierced the air again, and Legolas reached down to pull her to her feet, minding her injured hand. Gandalf urged them all to their feet and out the destroyed doorway. "To the bridge of Khazad-dûm!" He pointed down to the end of the great hall of Dwarrowdelf. Miraleth could not see it, but she hoped Gandalf was right and that it was the way out. They did not walk, as they had the past three days through Moria, or hope for stealth, but instead flat out ran across the stone floor, Gandalf's staff lighting the way. Miraleth made the mistake of looking over her shoulder as they ran, and she gasped—a wave of orcs surged behind them, running just as fast as they were, if not faster. And as they ran, the orcs seemed to multiply, coming from every which direction. They jumped up from cracks in the stone floor, poured from holes in the walls, and scuttled down the pillars from above like spiders, whooping and hollering their strange war cries. The Fellowship had made it perhaps halfway across the cavernous hall when the Hobbits began to gasp for air and stumble over cracks in the ground and no matter how urgently Miraleth coaxed them on, they slowed to a jog and the rest of the Fellowship was forced to slow down with them. Soon enough, they were surrounded by the bug-like orcs. Miraleth was cradling her mangled hand, and Aragorn put his arm around her waist and drew her towards him as he pointed his sword out towards the sea of black, leathery skin. She would have some protection as they died here, even if it was not her own.

The longer she stared at the faces of the orcs around them, the stranger they began to look. These were not the orcs that fought for Sauron in Mordor, and they were not the orcs that Saruman brought into the world at Isengard. They were bug-like, scrawny little things, with big eyes and shrill voices. Goblin-like.

Before she had a chance to bring it up to Aragorn, the orcs stopped, eyes wide as something growled in the distance. The growl was deep and clear and the walls shook with the sound. Miraleth snapped her head around with Gandalf to look towards the end of the hall they had come from. Something lit the walls with an orange glow. _No. _The orcs knew what was coming, too, and they raced off the way they had come, shrieking and crying and scuttling for the safety of darkness. She could hear Gimli laughing triumphantly, but could not find the voice to tell him to hush. She gripped Aragorn's arm, who gave her a strange look. "What is it?"

She could not reply. Fear had paralyzed her.

One by one, the members of the Fellowship lowered their weapons and turned towards the terrible growls that ripped through the air.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir whispered quietly, eyes narrowed.

Gandalf had his eyes closed for a few moments, and they snapped open when the growling increased in volume. He looked wearier and older than Miraleth had ever seen. "A Balrog. A demon from an ancient world."

Legolas nearly dropped his bow, he moved so quickly towards Miraleth. "A Balrog," he echoed quietly into Miraleth's ear. "The darkness that lies within Moria is a Balrog." Miraleth could not speak, and Legolas cursed. "Gandalf, if I had known a Balrog slept in the darkness here I would never have let us come through the mines!"

Boromir looked down the hall towards the light. "Can this Balrog be felled?"

Gandalf shook his head. "This foe is beyond any of you. _Run!_"

They _sprinted _towards the end of the hall—Miraleth never thought she would run so desperately towards shadow and away from light. When they reached the end, Gandalf pushed them each through the stone doorway. "Quickly!" He exclaimed, his eyes never leaving the light at the other end of the hall. Boromir advanced through the door a bit too quickly, though, and nearly fell over the edge where the ground ended. His torch fell over, and he watched it fall for many of hundreds of feet before Legolas ran forward and pulled him back over solid ground.

"Gandalf!" Miraleth gasped when the wizard collapsed against the stone wall, and she grasped his robe. Aragorn ran back to help him forward, but Gandalf only took Aragorn's shoulder and shook his head. "Lead them on, Aragorn! The bridge is near!"

Yes, it was near—Miraleth could see Khazad-dûm in the distance, a long narrow stretch of bridge between two great stone walls.

But Miraleth did not trust Aragorn leading her through Moria nearly as much as she trusted Gandalf and she pulled on his robe. "Gandalf, come on!"

"Do as I say!" Gandalf bellowed and shoved Aragorn down the steps when Aragorn stared at him, confused. Gandalf took Miraleth's hand and pressed it into Aragorn's. "Take Miraleth and lead them all to the bridge! Swords are no more use here," Gandalf snapped and followed Aragorn down the steps after the Hobbits.

"Go!" Aragorn commanded Miraleth. "To the front with Legolas!" Too tired to argue, she wove her way through the Hobbits and between Boromir and Gimli to scamper down the steps just behind Legolas. When they came to a gap in the staircase, Legolas jumped across without a second thought, and turned to catch Miraleth in his arms when she leapt across as well. They turned to where the Fellowship had stopped, eyeing the gap uneasily. Some of their uneasiness turned into worry when something roared behind them and stone began to fall from the ceiling.

"Gandalf!" Legolas called from across the gap, and gestured him over. Just as Legolas caught him on the other side, an arrow whizzed by his ear and struck the stone where Gandalf had stood only seconds before. Miraleth turned to look towards a ledge of stone far above them—orcs were there with bows, shooting down at them, safe from the reach of the Balrog. The Hobbits gasped and jumped about when the orcs shot at their feet, and Legolas aimed and shot the closet orc—the closest, but still a speck in the distance above them. But it was Legolas shooting the bow, Miraleth reminded herself, and the orc tumbled from his perch with a shriek.

"Merry! Pippin!" Boromir yelled and wrapped an arm around each Hobbit, pushing off from the edge of the stair and landing before Legolas and Gandalf. Legolas had waved Miraleth off, not wanting her to injure herself any more than she already had.

The force of Boromir's jump had forced a good bit of the stair they had jumped from to crumble away, and Aragorn and Gimli scrambled back to avoid falling over the edge. His face grim, Aragorn held his arms out towards the nearest Hobbit. "Sam," he said, and tossed a flailing Sam across the gap to be caught by Boromir. Next, Aragorn held out his arms to Gimli, but the stubborn Dwarf held up his hand, halting Aragorn, and strapped his axe across his back. "Nobody tosses a Dwarf!" He narrowed his eyes in determination and leapt across the gap with a yell. He nearly fell into the chasm below before Legolas ran forward and grabbed the Dwarf by the beard. "Not the beard!" Miraleth heard him yell.

After Gimli had jumped, though, more of the staircase had crumbled away, and Aragorn and Frodo scrambled even further away from the rest of the Fellowship. The gap was now too far to jump or be thrown across, and Aragorn stood holding Frodo by the shoulder, at a loss. The Balrog roared behind them again, and stone fell from the ceiling. Miraleth watched in horror as this time, a slab of rock crashed through the bit of staircase behind Aragorn and Frodo, and they were suddenly falling backwards.

Boromir yelled, Sam shouted. The island of stair Aragorn and Frodo were trapped on crashed into the stair behind them, and rocked forward again. "Hang on!" Aragorn shouted to Frodo, whose face was full of panic. "Lean forward!" Aragorn said when they rocked back again, and the next time they rocked forward, their perilous island of stairs crashed just where Aragorn wanted it to, and he and Frodo leapt into the arms of their companions just as the stairs they had escaped fell over and crashed down into the chasm below. Miraleth did not see it happen though, Boromir was urging her down the winding staircase that didn't seem to have an ending. By the time they reached level ground, they had slowed their sprint to a run, as the Hobbits were tiring, and fires blazed around them. The Balrog was so close, and the heat from the fires nearly seared Miraleth alive every time she took a breath.

"Over the bridge!" Gandalf shouted when they finally came to the stretch of stone. Miraleth had overestimated it. It was narrower than she had thought, and she wondered if the Hobbits would be able to keep their balance at all, carrying all the packs. But adrenaline won out above fear, and they raced across it after Aragorn and Boromir. Miraleth turned when she could no longer feel Gandalf's presence behind her, and saw that he had turned to stare at the fire demon that suddenly stood before them. She had seen Balrogs and other demons of ancient worlds only in the books of her father's library, and seeing the fire demon in front of her now paralyzed her with a terror she could not explain. It was indeed a monster of shadow and flame, with two great horns on its head. It roared, and someone—Legolas—pulled her sleeve, urging her across the bridge.

She turned to help Gandalf off the stretch of stone when she reached the other side, but he had stopped and turned at the middlepoint of the bridge, facing the Balrog from under strands of sweaty, gray hair. "You cannot pass!" He shouted at the demon.

"Gandalf!" Frodo screamed.

And then the Balrog had wings, great masses of darkness and shadow and ash, and it roared as it stood up to its full height, bursting with flame. Miraleth collapsed into Legolas, who stood behind her.

Gandalf raised his staff, and it blazed with light, white and pure, brighter than Miraleth had seen it during their four day trip through Moria. "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor," Gandalf continued. His voice boomed throughout the last cavern of Moria. "The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!"

Gandalf's staff glowed even brighter, surrounding the wizard in some beautiful orb of light as the Balrog raised its arm to summon a great sword of flame. It brought the sword down onto Gandalf, and the globe of light from Gandalf's staff threw the Balrog's arm back, shattering the firesword. The Balrog reared back, screaming in anger, and Legolas looped his arms around Miraleth's waist when she leaned forward, terrified for Gandalf, who set his staff and silver sword between himself and the demon. "Go back to the shadow!"

But the Balrog instead advanced upon Gandalf, a cloven hoof stepping onto the bridge. Miraleth heard Frodo gasp as the Balrog drew a fiery whip from within itself. He snapped it, and lightning cracked in the cavern, but Gandalf stood his ground, drawing his sword and staff together and raising them into the air in front of him. "You…shall not…_pass!_" He roared and brought his weapons down onto the stone of the bridge. There was a cracking sound, and when the Balrog advanced forward again, raising its whip in the air, the bridge collapsed out from under it, and it fell towards the depths of Moria, where it belonged.

Miraleth heard Aragorn release a breath when Gandalf turned and began to finish crossing the bridge, but she started forward and yelled—_"Gandalf!"—_as there was another cracking sound and the Balrog's whip snapped around Gandalf's ankle, yanking him over the edge of the bridge. His sword and staff both clattered from his hands as he was pulled over into the darkness, his fingers grasping whatever stone he could find.

Frodo ran forward, screaming Gandalf's name, and Boromir wrapped his arms around the Hobbit's middle, holding him back. "No, no!"

Gandalf struggled to find a fingerhold in the stone of the bridge in vain, and after finding one for a split second, ceased his struggling and met the eyes of the terrified members of the Fellowship he was supposed to protect.

"Fly, you fools!" He commanded harshly and fell into the chasm, arms outstretched like he was falling into a soft bed after a long journey. The Balrog was a distant light below him.

Miraleth watched in stunned silence until Frodo began to scream. The little hobbit tried pushing Boromir's arms away, but he only held Frodo tighter, pulling him away from the bridge and up into his arms.

"Aragorn!" Boromir shouted, and Aragorn ran up the next staircase after him as arrows begin to rain down on them again. The orcs had returned, but Miraleth didn't care a bit. She cared only for her _Mithrandir_, and tried to push Legolas away from her as she reached for the bridge.

"No! No! No, Legolas, let _go_ of me!" She screeched and cried, arms outstretched towards the broken bridge of Khazad-dûm where Gandalf had fallen.

_Gandalf is not dead._

She felt Legolas picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder as he raced out of the cavern, up the staircase after Gimli. Miraleth did not know how much longer they ran before they came out into the daylight. It felt like eternities upon eternities. Aragorn told her later it was mere seconds, but she could not bring herself to believe him. How could it only have been seconds? How could the broken bridge of Khazad-dûm be etched so clearly in her mind if she had only looked upon it for seconds after Gandalf had fallen?

The land outside the exit of Moria was not much better than inside. They were still somewhere in the Misty Mountains and the landscape for miles around them was rocky and barren. The only thing outside Moria that had not been inside was the sunlight and fresh air, but even that did not comfort Miraleth now. The sunlight felt bleak, and the air that should have been refreshing to breathe only hurt going down her throat. It was too cold.

She was cold.

She shivered.

Sam was the first to collapse in a fit of tears, throwing himself down upon the rock and burying his face in his hands to hide his sobs, and then everyone else broke down, one by one. Gimli was shouting Dwarvish nonsense, and Boromir was grasping him by the shoulders, holding him close and crying nonsense straight back at him. Gimli struggled against him, fighting back towards the doorway to Moria, but Boromir did not let go. Merry held Pippin, where he had curled into a ball on the ground and cried. Legolas wrapped strong arms around Miraleth and held her tight while she wept and cried into his chest, her arms tight around his middle. Elvish nonsense flowed from her lips, but Legolas did not say anything. He only pushed her hair out of her face while she wept for her _Mithrandir,_ tucking that stubborn curl behind her ear each time it broke free. Legolas did not weep, or cry, or speak at all. He had known Gandalf the longest out of any of them, longer than Miraleth only because of the few centuries he was older than her by. He was stricken silent by Gandalf's sudden end, and so Miraleth wept for him too, for the tears he would not show in front of the Hobbits and for the sorrow he would not show to the rest of the Fellowship. Legolas was strong—he had to be, or else who would be? Miraleth knew this, and she wept for him so he would not have to.

Miraleth's sobs quieted down to simple tears that ran down her face after some time, but her arms only tightened around Legolas. "I l-l-ost my b-bow. When I d-dropped it in that a-awful t-t-tomb." She hiccupped slightly. Gandalf had shaped her the bow from a tree in Mirkwood for her hundredth birthday.

Someone pulled on her sleeve and when she looked down, Merry and Pippin were there. Merry was holding her mahogany bow. After looking down at it for a bit, he held it out to her. Legolas released Miraleth so she could turn towards the Hobbits. Before either of them said anything, Pippin's face broke and his lips trembled as sobs tore from his throat. Miraleth knelt to the ground and took her little Hobbits into her arms. Her bow clattered to the stone ground again, forgotten once more.

"Legolas!" Aragorn's voice startled Miraleth, who looked up from her kneeling position on the ground, where she still held the Hobbits. Aragorn nodded towards the exhausted Fellowship. "Get them up."

Boromir's face scrunched up, lip trembling as he turned towards Aragorn. "Give them a moment, for pity's sake!"

And yet Aragorn remained the dutiful leader. "By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs!" Boromir was quiet, and he continued. "We must reach the woods of Lothlórien."

Miraleth wanted to cry again when Aragorn gestured towards the forest of green in the distance. She did not want to go to Lothlórien. She wanted to run back into Moria and retrieve Gandalf from its awful depths.

"Come, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli," Aragorn waved an arm. "Get them up."

Boromir nodded and pulled Sam from the rock. "On your feet, Sam." His voice was hoarse, and Sam nodded and wiped his puffy, red eyes with his dirty sleeve.

Gimli helped Merry and Pippn up from the ground, and sheparded them over to where Boromir and Sam were heading for Aragorn, who was calling after Frodo—he had wandered off a bit.

Legolas, quiet as ever, offered a hand to Miraleth, who was still kneeling on the hard, stony ground. Her tears had cleaned streaks into the grime and blood that dirtied her face and her injured hand hung limply in her lap. "_Tula, Miraleth._" He murmured softly. "Aragorn will not want to wait for long."

"I suppose not." She sniffled once, quietly, before slipping her bow around her back and taking Legolas' hand. He pulled to her feet and placed a hand on the small of her back to keep her from falling as her feet started forward again.

* * *

_Lasto beth nîn, peredhil_.—Hear my voice, little hobbit.

_Lasto beth nîn. Tolo dan na ngalad. Dartho!—_Hear my voice. Come back to the light. Stay!

_Tula—_Come


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** **I was looking back at my previous chapters and I realized I never really acknowledge the reviews you all leave for me, which is kind of awful of me because now I'm not sure if you guys know how much they mean to me. Feedback and such keeps me going, so thank you so much if you've ever left me a review, even if it was only a sentence long. Hugs and cookies for everyone. Yayy. **

**Also, to my faithful reviewer Aranel Mereneth, who brought it up, and for anyone else wondering, the romance in this story is going to be pretty slow-paced since ideally I'll be taking the story through the entire trilogy ****(Lol. Ideally. Ok. _Ideally._)****, and I wouldn't want for such a huge part of the storyline to conclude before everything else does. **

**On that note about taking the story through the entire trilogy (HAHAHA IDEALLY GUYS OK), school is starting up pretty soon, and I started writing this out of boredom when school let out and I found myself with way too much free time. Admittedly, I have up until chapter 11 already written, but when I start getting bogged down with school work and classes I won't have as much time to write and I might stop updating until I find some time. So just a warning in advance-if I stop updating, I'm not abandoning anything, just busy with school. (Because omg so many AP classes I'm going to die ok die)  
**

**Anyways. I think that's it for my rambling.  
**

* * *

After the silent trip out of the Misty Mountains, they came to a bubbling brook whose water ran clear. Miraleth smiled softly despite herself—there had been no running water in the dark mines of Moria.

"We will break here for a moment before continuing," Aragorn clapped Boromir on the shoulder and pointed to the forests of Lothlórien, which were visible in the distance.

Miraleth immediately ambled down to the spring and slipped off her boots to place her feet in the coolness of the water. She leaned down and splashed her face, keeping her eyes closed and simply breathing for just a beautiful moment before setting to the task of scrubbing the dirt and blood from her skin and clothes. Merry and Pippin went to sit by her, and they put their feet in the water as well, shrugging to each other.

The brook bubbled trough the silence until Miraleth spoke. "I did not See this." Her voice was a soft utterance of blame. "I did not See it. Perhaps if I had Seen it I—"

"Nonsense," Merry waved her words away. "You know Gandalf, there wasn't anything you could've done, even if you had…uh, Seen it."

"Was Gandalf always the way he is—erm…was?" Pippin asked her. "I mean no offense, you look very good for it, but we figure you've been around long enough to know. I mean—well, no that's what I mean."

Merry gave him a meaningful stare.

"Well, that's to say, we figure you knew him better than we did." Pippin said carefully and smiled, nodding to himself.

A grin poked at Miraleth's lips. "Well Gandalf seemed to spend all his time around you scolding you, Pippin." Her grin faded after a moment though. "I do not know how well you knew Gandalf the Grey, but I can remember him being there as long as I can remember. He's much older than I am, much older than Legolas. He was…very kind. Always. And where my father scolded me and sent me to my rooms for getting into trouble when I was younger, Gandalf turned everything into some sort of bigger lesson and sought growth instead of punishment." Miraleth gazed into the pond, looking at nothing. Her mind was a thousand years in the past. "I don't think I've ever met anyone more wise than he."

"Did you ever see his fireworks?" Pippin asked. "He gave Merry and I a run for our money, didn't he Merry?"

Merry shook his head. "No, Pip, now that I look back on it I think his fireworks make ours look like campfires. I…I'm going to miss him."

Miraleth shook herself out of her reverie and took Merry's hands, smiling at the little Hobbit. "Be strong now, Meriadoc Brandybuck."

"But you're crying."

Miraleth touched her face, where there were stray tears rolling down her cheeks. She hadn't noticed until Merry had pointed them out. "Then I will cry for you," She said. "And you will be strong. Both of you will."

After the Hobbits ran off to help Sam find an extra shirt for Frodo, Legolas sat next to Miraleth and took her injured hand, holding up another set of bandages when she looked at him. He had set the broken bones for her while they were walking, soothing every pained wince and cringe she made with gentle words and jokingly offering up Gimli's beard for her to yank in effort to draw a laugh from Miraleth, who had been quiet the entire time they walked.

But everyone had been quiet during the long walk out of the mountains.

After he had set the broken bones, though, she had insisted on wrapping it herself, so he had given her bandages and let her have at it. But now she had gone and gotten the bandages all wet like she _wasn't_ supposed to, and he rewrapped the broken hand for her while she peered into the clear water of the brook. A fish darted out from under a rock and tickled the skin of her feet as it rushed towards the end of the brook, where the water spilled over the slope of the hill they were on and swept down the decline into a pond below.

It swam quickly, freely. Free of the dark touches of the world.

"Legolas! Miraleth!" Aragorn shouted over to where they sat in grievous silence. Aragorn was lifting packs over his back and gesturing them to leave the hill.

Legolas pulled Miraleth to her feet and led her over to where the rest of the Fellowship was gathered, looking off into the mountains they had left behind. Aragorn pointed when the elves reached them, and when Miraleth turned to look, her heart sank even further. The gray color of the stony mountains had been nearly completely masked by black. Aragorn had been right. The sun was just setting, and the mountains were swarming with orcs.

"We need to move," Aragorn clapped Legolas on the shoulder, his voice grim, and led the Fellowship down the hill in a steady run over the grassy plain below, towards the golden forests of Lórien. Miraleth had left her boots off when she had withdrawn her feet from the coolness of the brook, and she carried them in her hands as they ran now, relishing in the feeling of the soft grass beneath her feet and the soil beneath her toes.

The orcs behind them were just running up the peak of the hill they had been resting on when they passed through the treeline of Lórien. The Fellowship slowed to a stop in the cover of the golden forest, panting for air as the fatigue of the day began to catch up with them. Miraleth turned to face the grassy plain before the forest. The orcs had stopped at the hill and were beginning to retreat—they would not dare cross the boundaries of Lórien. Even Saruman was not bold enough to provoke the power that lay dormant inside the forests.

"Come on," After a moment's rest, Aragorn wandered deeper into the forest. "We should keep a move on."

The longer they traveled through the wood, the more uneasy the Fellowship became. Their eyes roamed the forest around them, looking up and down and around, jumping at the slightest sign of movement. At one point, a rabbit bounded before Boromir, and he drew his sword with a surprised yelp. The woods were beautiful, no doubt about that. The trees were long and slender, and mosses and lichens grew at the bases. The autumn leaves swirled in the breeze as they fell to the ground around them, and the golden sun seemed to illuminate the surreal woods.

At the same time, the breeze was chilling and the trees seemed to tower above them, looking in on them. Gimli kept his axe drawn.

There was something in these woods.

When Frodo and Sam began to wander a bit too far from the rest of the group, Gimli gestured them back, his eyes wide. "Stay close, young hobbits!" His voice was hushed and his eyes surveyed the surroundings. "They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods, an Elf-witch, of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell…and are never seen again." His voice took on an ominous air, as if he was telling a ghost story. Frodo gasped and looked around him, his head whipping around as if he was looking for something.

_Galadriel,_ Miraleth knew. The Lady was angry that her woods had been invaded by the evil of the One Ring. Miraleth could feel it in the way the breeze blew harsher and the trees creaked. But Miraleth smiled, amused, at Gimli's antics and wondered what her grandmother would think of her terrible reputation amongst the Dwarves. "You are far too easily swayed, Gimli."

He huffed and ignored her. "Well, here's one Dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!" But the Dwarf stilled, eyes wide, when he turned to face forward and found the tip of a silver arrow pointed at his nose. "Oh." His voice rose an octave in surprise. The sounds of bows being drawn was suddenly seemed to echo throughout the entire forest as the Fellowship found themselves surrounded by elves in gray and brown cloaks, each with a bow drawn and an arrow aimed towards them. Miraleth was unworried—they would not shoot them—but she saw Legolas whip his bow out and nock an arrow, pointing it at the nearest elf.

Aragorn raised his hands in a surrender, and a tall, broad elf with golden-blonde hair leisurely strode forward, his hands behind his back. "The Dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark," he mocked, his voice gentle and smooth.

Gimli growled and Miraleth sighed at the egos that surrounded her. Haldir glanced over and his eyes paused on Miraleth, jolted by her appearance there with the Fellowship. She gave an imperceptible shake of her head to shame him for his teasing of Gimli—what could she say? The Dwarf was beginning to grow on her.—and the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly as he signaled his archers to lower their weapons. "We will escort you as far as the first outpost," He said to Aragorn and strode off ahead of them. The other elves surrounded the Fellowship and guided them to follow Haldir.

It was a long, quiet walk. Each time a member of the Fellowship tried to speak, an elf would reach out to prod them with their bow, shutting them up. It was nightfall by the time they reached the first outpost, and when they stopped in a small clearing, the hobbits were confused as ever until Legolas nudged them and pointed up. There, nestled in the towering trunks of the trees, were great platforms with silver lanterns lighting the way up.

The hobbits couldn't begin to imagine how they were to get up there—were they going to have to climb all that way?—but then Haldir started up a small, steep staircase grown into the wood of the thick, weaving trunks of the trees. The Fellowship carefully followed him up, staying as close to the trunk as possible so they would not fall.

After a hushed conversation with two other elves who were waiting on the platform, Haldir went to stand before the Fellowship, looking first towards Legolas. His posture was more relaxed and his voice was not as harsh now that he was safely up in the trees and knew that he had elven kindred amongst the members of the Fellowhsip. _"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion." _Haldir placed his right hand over his heart and drew it outwards as a sign of respect.

_"Govannas vîn gwennen le, Haldir o Lórien."_ Legolas mirrored the gesture, inclining his head.

Haldir smiled softly and turned to see Aragorn. _"A, Aragorn in Dúnedain"_ Aragorn bowed slightly to the elf, holding his hands together in front of him. _"Istannen le ammen."_ Haldir made the same sign of respect to the Man, though it was slightly smaller than the gesture he had given to Legolas, the Prince of the Woodland Realm.

_ "Haldir," _Aragorn murmured fondly and returned the sign, grateful for the honorable compliment.

Gimli scoffed irritably. "So much for the legendary courtesy of the elves. Speak words we can all understand!" He demanded angrily. He couldn't believe Aragorn had led them into this forest. Arrogant lot, elves were. They had forced him to take off his helmet so that his eyes were not hidden beneath the leather and iron.

Haldir's nostrils flared as his attention was drawn towards the dwarf. "We have not had dealings with the Dwarves since the dark days," he all but sneered, looking the dwarf up and down.

"And you know what this Dwarf says to that?" Gimli challenged, his face set. _"Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!" _

"Gimli…" Miraleth sighed exasperatedly at the uttering of what she did not doubt was the only Elvish phrase Gimli knew, and Aragorn closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

Aragorn turned to Gimli and grasped him hard by the shoulder. "That was not so courteous," he scolded harshly.

Haldir straightened, irritated and annoyed, but he moved to walk down the line of guests and found Frodo in the back of the group. Haldir tensed—he could nearly smell the evil coming off the hobbit. "You bring great evil with you," he told Frodo, his voice hushed.

Frodo did not say anything, and only stared at Haldir, his brow furrowed and eyes anxious.

Haldir observed the silent hobbit for a moment longer before drawing a breath and turning back to the rest of the group. "My brothers will take Lady Miraleth to Caras Galadhon. The Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn have been awaiting her arrival," he stated brusquely and turned to address Aragorn, who was clearly the leader of the group. "You can go no further."

Miraleth, slightly shocked by the coolness in Haldir's tone and more than slightly shocked that he would turn the Fellowship away, met his gaze. He inclined his head, reluctant apology in his eyes, before walking away to speak with a group of elves.

_"Hiril nín," _Miraleth heard a soft voice behind her and she turned to see Rumil and Orophin, Haldir's brothers. She did not know them as she knew Haldir, and had never been particularly close with either, but it was lovely to see familiar faces.

_"Mae govannen, Rumil, Orophin," _she smiled tightly. It was lovely to see them, but the last thing she wanted to do was leave her companions when they could be pushed out of the safety of Lórien and back into the danger of their quest.

Rumil inclined his head and put his hand over his heart. "We will depart as soon as you are ready."

She nodded and held up a finger to tell them to wait a moment, and went to Legolas, who was standing a little ways away from Aragorn and Haldir, where they conversed in hushed, angry tones.

"Miraleth," Legolas smiled softly despite his aggravation. "You will give Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn my greetings?"

She nodded and reached up to wipe at a smudge of dirt on his forehead. "Of course. I will see what I can do about Haldir allowing you into Caras Gladhon as well. He is only trying to protect his home, but…" She trailed off as Legolas gazed at her knowingly. She laughed. "Well. It is Haldir." She shook her head and looked down before turning her gaze, serious once more, back up to Legolas. "My grandmother will listen to me."

"I hope so. Those orcs will be waiting for us if we are forced to turn and leave by the northern border."

"I will do what I can," she promised.

Legolas took her small hands in his. "And if it is not enough?"

Then she would not see Legolas until the One Ring was destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom and her father deemed it safe enough for her to return home to Imladris. She knew Legolas had told her he would only be gone a few months, but something whispered in the back of her mind, where she forced all the knowledge from the dreams her Sight brought her, and it said that it would be a long while before she would return home. Much longer than a few months.

_Home._

The word was bittersweet in her mind.

She raised her chin and forced a smile on her face. "Then I will see you in a few months' time," she replied.

Legolas smiled and pulled her close to him in a strong embrace. Miraleth wrapped her arms around his middle, welcoming the warmth of his body against hers in the cool, breezy treetops of Lórien. Just as she lay her head over his heart, something jolted her mind into motion.

_—Gimli fast asleep under the trunk of a white mellorn tree._

_ Aragorn._

_ Hobbits._

_ Frodo bent over the Mirror of Galadriel, the Ring straining against his neck._

_ Haldir.—_

She opened her eyes and smiled, withdrawing from Legolas' arms. She could feel Rumil and Orophin growing impatient behind her.

Legolas inclined his head as she took a step back. "Until our next meeting then."

She shook her head. "It will be sooner than you think, Legolas." Her eyes danced with newfound knowledge—for once her Sight was good for something—and she went to join the two elves who were waiting to lead her to Caras Galadhon.

* * *

Rumil and Orophin were very different from Haldir in the sense that whereas Haldir stood tall and proud and commanded surrounding attention, his brothers were quiet, introverted, (though still quite tall and proud,) and they murmured quietly with each other as they escorted Miraleth through the forest. Despite their soft smiles and softer words, they shared the same sense of chivalrous kindness that was so deeply imbued in Haldir, and Miraleth was glad to have them as companions, even if she really did not need any in the safety of Lothlórien.

The deeper into the woods they went, the bigger the trees became. The trunks became thicker, the treetops higher, the branches broader, and it was not long before the golden mellyrn trees of Lothórien became visible in the thickets of oaks and birches. Miraleth smiled when she brushed her hand over one as they passed by, shivering pleasantly. Her second favorite thing about Lórien was the mellyrn trees. Never had she felt a tree pulse with such vitality and life before, and when they spoke to her, they spoke of the golden blossoms on their trunks and the sun on their top branches and the animals that took shelter under their nurturing roots.

The three elves made small talk with each other as they stepped through the foliage. Rumil asked how the woods of Imladris fared, and Orophin asked politely after the wellbeing of her sister Arwen. When talk of Elrohir and Elladan surfaced, Rumil and Orophin relaxed into jesting grins, and told Miraleth stories about her brothers that even she had never heard before. They were laughing and reminiscing with each other about the last hunting trip they had ridden on with her brothers (which, apparently, had not ended so well for Elrohir, who had gone and gotten himself stuck in a boar trap,) when they found the silver path into Caras Galadhon under their feet. Orophin clapped Rumil on the shoulder and grinned. _"Mae tollen na mar,"_ he said. _Welcome home._

The elves of Lórien were treefolk, and lived on platforms high in the treetops. Rumil and Orophin led Miraleth up to the flet she would stay in. The flets in Caras Galadhon were not open to the sky, as the platforms of the outpost had been, but were covered and had walls. They were homes. ("Like treehouses!" Frodo would later remark in wonder.)

More than once Rumil and Orophin teasingly clicked their tongues at her to get her to continue following them. The mellyrn trees were her second favorite thing here, but as her eyes roamed the great city before her, she remembered what her first favorite thing here was—the way the forest lit up during the night. Silver lanterns were scattered here and there and lit the edges of the paths, and the light reflected off the trunks off the mellyrn trees and seemed to brighten tenfold. The moonlight spilled down through the treetops to kiss the surfaces it touched with liquid silver and the blossoms on the trunks of the trees twinkled like stars, and it was almost as if Lórien had its very own night sky there on the ground.

"The Lord and Lady await you whenever you are ready." Rumil bowed his head, and he and his brother placed their hands over their hearts in a farewell as they climbed back down the stairs that wrapped around the tree trunk towards the forest floor, leaving Miraleth to relish in the peaceful tranquility of the treetops. The breeze rustled through the leaves, but there was no shouting. No yelling. No battle cries.

Simply peace.

* * *

"Ah…there is the child," Galadriel's voice was gentle and she held out an arm towards Miraleth, whose face fell into an easy smile upon seeing her mother's parents again after what had seemed a very, very long time, even though it had perhaps only been a hundred years since she had visited Lórien.

"My Lord and Lady are gracious to aid me in this time of need," Miraleth thanked, inclining her head and placing her right hand over her heart. She had not felt so at ease in a long while. There had been a clean gown on her bed, and she had changed and washed the dirt and grime from herself before leaving to meet Galadriel and Celeborn.

Celeborn smiled in return. "Aid can always be found here when the House of Elrond is in need of it.

"But…" Galadriel gazed upon Miraleth's face knowingly, her eyes alight with starlight and knowledge and mystery, as they always were. "There is something else you desire. Something not for you, but for those close to you."

"My lady is intuitive as she is fair," Miraleth half-smiled and Galadriel seemed to brighten with the compliment.

"Tell me what it is that troubles you so, child."

Miraleth drew a breath before speaking. "The Fellowhip of the One Ring also seeks the aid of Lothórien, and only wishes to pass through to the southern border."

Galadriel and Celeborn exchanged a long glance. "Yes," Celeborn looked away. "I felt them pass the borders. I was under the impression that Haldir went to meet them, and that he deemed it unsafe to have them travel any further into our forests."

Miraleth shook her head. "But it is not unsafe. The One Ring rests not on the finger but on a chain around the neck of a young hobbit. I have seen into his heart, and he good and pure and uncorrupted." Celeborn sighed, and Miraleth continued. "And if the Ring truly presented a threat around Frodo's neck, my lady's magic would not have allowed it or its evil to cross the borders!" Lothórien was one of the safest places in Middle-earth for good reason. Not only was it the heart of Elvendom, but the magic of Galadriel and her Ring, Nenya, nourished the forests and protected its borders with a magic so powerful only Sauron himself would have the ability to breach it.

Celeborn and Galadriel were silent, but everything about their body language screamed that they were communicating with each other.

"My Lady would do well to consider my words at least," Miraleth pleaded. "The Fellowship will perish if they are forced to return out the northern border."

At last, Galadriel spoke. "I will look into the Mirror and think on your words, child."

Celeborn was quiet—unless his wife fully supported this, he was going to remain the voice of caution, as he always did.

But Miraleth smiled, relieved, and bowed before Galadriel. "My lady is kind and good."

Galadriel nodded once, but fixed Miraleth with a solemn, knowing gaze as she stood to leave. "Just know that to rely on your Sight is to rely on a chance."

Miraleth stopped in leaving, her breath pausing in her chest.

"Be wary, my child." Galadriel smiled. "The future is but an outcome of the present, and the smallest of actions can have the direst of consequences."

Miraleth was quiet. She heard the care Galadriel took in choosing her words, and wondered what the Lady of Light was hiding from her. Her father's words from so long ago echoed in her mind. _You don't understand the ways of the world quite yet, daughter. Those with Sight speak in riddles, for good reason._

"Ah, yes," Celeborn's voice was like the liquid moonlight that filtered through the trees. "Lord Elrond speaks the truth."

Miraleth did not bother to wonder or ask how he had seen into her mind. Where Galadriel's gift was in magic and power, her husband's was in infinite wisdom.

"Knowledge is dangerous, Miraleth of Rivendell," Celeborn continued. "And so the riddles must remain."

"But—"

"No buts," he calmly interjected. "Tell me, if you had the chance to change your fate, would you?" She did not reply—she knew what the right answer was. Celeborn nodded. "Fates are not meant to be changed…"

"…but accepted," Miraleth finished in a whisper.

Celeborn smiled and repeated, "Lord Elrond speaks the truth."

* * *

Legolas didn't know if it was Miraleth behind Haldir's sudden change of heart or all of Aragorn's arguing with him, but the day after Miraleth had gone, Haldir had brusquely appeared before the Fellowship and ordered them to follow him.

It been many hundreds of years since Legolas had been to Caras Galadhon, but one did not easily forget the sight of it from afar. Once the city came into view, Haldir's face lightened and the corners of his lips turned up in a small smile. "Caras Galadhon," he had presented it proudly to the Fellowship, reverence for his home in his voice. "Heart of Elvendom on earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light."

"Say," Gimli muttered up to Legolas on the way down the hill they stood upon. "Exactly how magnificent is this grand city of yours, eh?"

Legolas smiled. "It is the fairest of all the dwellings of my people."

"Fairer even than Rivendell?"

"Fairer even than Rivendell, my friend. Lothlórien is second only to Valinor itself."

As they entered the city and night began to fall, the hobbits could barely keep up with Haldir. Rivendell had been beautiful, but this was something else. This was _magical._ They hadn't even been paying attention to where Haldir was leading them, and when they stopped, they collided into the backs of Aragorn and Boromir, who walked in front of them.

"Why are we stopping?" Pippin asked, almost complaining as his eyes continued to roam. "We've only been walking for…for…" He trailed off and his voice stammered into a silence as he looked forward, his eyes wide at what was before him.

There was a star right there, in the middle of the forest.

But then the light began to dim just enough for the Fellowship to see that it was in fact not a star, but two tall, willowy, golden-haired elves, who strode towards them slowly, hand in hand. Aragorn bowed his head and touched his fingers to his forehead in respect towards the Lord and Lady of Lórien.

"The enemy knows you have entered here," Celeborn said, his voice solemn and deep and pure as he ignored the shell-shocked silence of the men, hobbits, and dwarf that stood in awe of him. "What hope you had in secrecy is now gone."

Legolas looked away from the two elves, his attention drawn to an elleth who stood off to the side behind them, next to the grey-cloaked guards, her hands folded in front of her. Miraleth had changed out of her riding clothes into a white silken gown and her hair fell to her waist in curls, clean and shining. Like the Lord and Lady, the silver lights of Lórien illuminated her skin and the gown she wore, and it was almost as if she was a little star with eyes and ears, standing there amongst them. She smiled serenely at Legolas before giving her attention back to Celeborn and Galadriel, bringing him to do the same.

Celeborn observed each member of the group, his face set in a frown. "Eight there are here, yet nine there were that set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him." Celeborn's voice rung out in the silence. "I can no longer see him from afar."

Miraleth's heart skipped and the light upon her skin diminished as she looked to the ground, grief wrapping a cold, clammy hand around her throat and squeezing tight. The nearest guard to her gave her a troubled glance and offered his arm to her should she need the support—she grasped it gratefully—but he did not ask what was wrong.

Galadriel studied Aragorn's eyes. "Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land," she whispered before anyone else could speak up, her face falling into a sorrowful expression of disbelief. "He has fallen into shadow."

Aragorn nodded imperceptibly, feeling awful to have to be the one to give the news to the grief-stricken Galadriel. Celeborn's gaze went to his wife, and he stared at her, the same disbelief that had been in her eyes now in his.

"He was taken by both shadow and flame," Legolas uttered into the stricken silence, his jaw set. "A Balrog of Morgoth." Celeborn said nothing, but his face was conflicted and it was clear that his mind was racing, and he looked down. The wisest being alive could not have foreseen this, and Celeborn certainly had not. It seemed impossible that someone such as Gandalf could be felled at all. Legolas continued, "For we went needlessly into the net of Moria."

Gimli's gaze fell to the ground also—he had been the one to insist on traveling through Moria. He had promised roaring fires and the great hospitality of his cousin Balin, and instead they had been met by a great tomb where the mines had once been, crawling with orcs and stinking of death.

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not yet know his whole purpose," Galadriel said carefully, in spite of the grief that lingered, and turned her gaze to Gimli. "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-Dûm fill your heart, Gimli, son of Gloin, for the world has grown full of peril." Her voice flowed over Gimli's soul like a cool water in the wake of a fire, and he looked upon the Lady, tears in his eyes. "And in all lands, love is now mingled with grief." She turned her blue eyes to Boromir, who met her startling gaze and looked away only seconds later, tears running down his face and a broken sob tearing from his throat.

Miraleth stirred from where she stood, her alert eyes upon her grandmother. The eerie lightness about Galadriel gave away the power she was exuding. Miraleth knew not what the Lady said to them in their minds, but even if the words were kind it would only be mere moments before she crossed the fine line into cruelty.

"What now becomes of this Fellowship?" Celeborn spoke again before Galadriel could. His face was hard, but the grief was still clear in his eyes. "Without Gandalf…hope is lost."

"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife," Galadriel picked up her husband's words as his voice died. "Stray but a little and it will fail to the ruin of all," she warned, her eyes turning to Boromir once more. She raised her chin slightly and her voice lightened. "Yet hope remains while company keeps true." Her eyes smiled serenely as she looked to sweet, faithful Sam. His company would always keep true. "Do not let your hearts be troubled; go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace."

As Celeborn began to speak, Galadriel looked upon Frodo, her smile falling from her lips and a shadow passing over her bright eyes. Miraleth paled when her words echoed not only through Frodo's mind, but through her own.

_Welcome, Frodo of the Shire…one who has seen the Eye!_

* * *

_Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion.—_Well met, Legolas son of Thranduil.

_Govannas vîn gwennen le, Haldir o Lórien.—_Our Fellowship stands in your debt, Haldir of Lórien.

_A, Aragorn in Dúnedain. Istannen le ammen._—Ah, Aragorn of the Dúnedain. You are known to us.

_Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul_—I spit upon your grave

_Hiril nín_—my lady

_Mae tollen na mar_—Welcome home


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: You guys. You guys, I am so sorry. I think it's been like a month since I updated. But a few weeks ago I left my laptop charger at a friend's place and didn't get it back until today, and on top of that I've got this killer computer virus I have yet to completely get rid of.  
**

**I have some more excuses as well but I don't think you all want to read through them, they're basically all saying the same thing.  
**

**Anyways. Onward.  
**

* * *

Miraleth had volunteered to guide the Fellowship away from Celeborn's and Galadriel's archway. The Fellowship were to stay not in the platforms in the trees, but under tent-like pavilions in the center of Caras Galadhon, as guests only passing through so often did.

Walking down the steps to join the Fellowship, Miraleth had passed her grandmother, and she met her cool blue gaze for a split second—a split second that seemed to last an eternity. _She knows,_ something in Miraleth's mind whispered. Galadriel knew with all certainty that Miraleth had overheard her moment of darkness with Frodo. Of course she did. The Lady of Light knew everything that went on in her woods. And as she and Miraleth shared that long, awful glance, Miraleth saw something dangerous in the depths of Galadriel's eyes. A warning.

_Knowledge is dangerous._ Celeborn's words echoed in her mind. Especially, Miraleth found herself thinking, knowledge that was not yours to know.

Miraleth had only swallowed and murmured a quiet _"my lady,"_ before hurrying down the steps to lead Aragorn and the rest of his companions from the Lord and Lady, relaxing only when they were far enough away to where they could no longer see them.

"Pippin," she called over her shoulder when he began to stray across the courtyard.

"Hmm?"

She turned, her brow furrowed, when she did not hear his footsteps returning to her. "Pippin!" She snapped, and he jumped back from the silver basin of water. She held her arm out and placed a hand on his back when he rushed back over to her.

"It was calling my name," Pippin said, mystified.

"Yes, I'm sure it was," Miraleth murmured. "Do not look into the Mirror, Pippin," she warned him quietly. "For it does not give without taking, do you understand?"

He nodded, sneaking one last look over his shoulder at the silver basin that had seemed to murmur his name. _Peregrin Took._ "Well why does it do that?" He asked as she led him away towards where Aragorn was showing Sam and Frodo where they would sleep.

Miraleth only shook her head once. "Such is the way of old magic."

She gently pushed him to where Merry was sitting next to Aragorn at the base of a mellorn, smoking a pipe. Miraleth left to find Legolas—Haldir had taken him to get him some clean clothes—but as she passed Frodo, he did not smile at her like he normally did. He did not even seem to notice her. He just gazed, melancholy, at the floor.

She wandered over to him and sat next to him on the root of the tree. "Where's Sam?" Frodo didn't reply. Miraleth frowned and leaned over to look at his eyes. "Frodo…?"

He drew a breath but his eyes remained on the ground. "Galadriel was in my head. She spoke to me. But…her words were not as light as the words that came from her lips. And I saw her eyes. They were…terrible. Beautiful, but terrible…"

Miraleth was silent for a moment as her countenance dimmed. She stood from the root and held her hand out to Frodo. _"Tula_. Walk with me, if you would be so kind."

He stared at her hand for a moment before taking it and getting to his feet. The two began a slow walk down the silver path through Caras Galadhon. When Miraleth finally drew breath to speak, her voice was soft. "The Lady Galadriel is perhaps the most powerful of the elves that remain in Middle-Earth. She is beautiful and wise, and she was once very kind."

"She is still kind," Frodo said, but his voice was uncertain.

"Yes," Miraleth agreed. "She is still kind. She is still my family, and I love her very much." She looked down at her bare feet. "But the years of bearing her own Ring of Power have taken their toll on her, and darkness is beginning to take hold deep in her heart. She begins to struggle with temptation."

Frodo stopped in his tracks and looked at Miraleth, his expression stricken. "There are more Rings of Power!" He exclaimed.

She eyed him carefully. He did not know, or perhaps did not remember Aragorn's words for him all those days ago in Bree. "There were nineteen others forged before Sauron revealed the One Ring."

"Do they…do they still exist? Are they as evil as the One?" As Frodo spoke, he could hear the gold band weighing down on the chain around his neck. It had been getting heavier and heavier. "And Galadriel has one! How?"

Miraleth shook her head and clicked her tongue to calm him. "There were three that went to my kin. They are still among us, but when Sauron revealed the One Ring and his intentions to rule the others, the elves hid them deep in their forests, and they remained untainted by his corruption. But even in goodness, they are still Rings of Power, and the magic of them still offers darkness after ages of use, and Galadriel has worn hers since it was forged."

"Who has the other two?"

"My father wears one. _Vilya_. You remember it; he used it to heal you." Frodo only looked mildly surprised. Miraleth guessed after the past couple months, there wasn't much that could have surprised the poor hobbit, but she drew a breath and hoped he had braced himself for her next words. "And…Gandalf had the last." Her voice softened to a whisper as she tried to keep her words from shaking.

Frodo did sadden, but if he was surprised he did not show it. "But there was no darkness in their hearts," he said.

"No," Miraleth shook her head. "Those Rings were passed down to them from former masters. They have not borne them as long as Galadriel has borne hers."

Frodo swallowed. "And the others. There are sixteen others."

"Seven that went to the Dwarves," Miraleth continued quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of the elves around them to the dark matters she was speaking of. "Four were lost in the fires of dragons that attacked them for the treasure they hoarded in their mines. Sauron took the other three when the dwarves did not bend to his control as he had planned."

Frodo glanced up at her in surprise. The Dwarves, in all their greed and stubborn tendencies, had fought Sauron's control. The hobbit found himself thinking of Gimli's stubborn nature in a new light.

"And the last nine went to Men," Miraleth said, drawing his attention back to her.

"And where are they?"

Miraleth peered at the young hobbit. "You know where they are, Frodo."

It showed on his face when the realization dawned on him. He remembered Aragorn's words the night they had first met, when he had saved the hobbits from the black riders. _They were once Men._

"The Nazgûl," Frodo breathed.

Miraleth nodded once, slowly. "Yes." She half-smiled. "And you'd do well to listen better to Aragorn, little hobbit," she advised before stopping before a staircase. She looked above her into the treetops for a moment. "Legolas is here. Thank you for escorting me all this way." She smiled at Frodo. When he nodded distractedly and turned to walk back towards the Fellowhip, Miraleth shook her head and she reached for his shoulder to turn him back towards her for a moment. "Do not despair so. Hope for the best. It does still remain, you know. Hope."

He nodded again after a moment, and once again turned to walk back towards the pavilions in the distance. Miraleth watched him as he left before starting up the silver staircase against the side of the mellorn behind her. She slowed when she heard laughter, and peeked the left side of her face into the doorway of the platform. Miraleth had not wanted to walk in on—

"I am decent, Miraleth." Legolas' teasing voice made her flush, and she frowned as she stepped through the doorway, a hand brushing the wooden doorframe as she passed through it.

"Don't make fun of me," she flushed further.

"Ah, but the blush upon your cheeks is too lovely a sight not to take every chance to see it." Haldir grinned.

Miraleth raised her chin, determined not to look at Haldir and have him crack her pout into a smile, and she strode over to where Legolas sat in front of a mirror braiding his blonde hair back. He had changed out of the green and brown dress of Mirkwood and wore the silver garb of Lórien. She swatted his hands away from his hair and took the silken strands of gold with gentle, slender fingers so she could braid them herself. Her braids had always been better than his.

"_G__wennig_," Haldir was still grinning. Miraleth huffed out a sigh at his endearment for her. "I can see your smile showing through that pout."

She shook her head, finishing one of Legolas' braids. "I'm not pouting."

"Miraleth."

Her determined gaze met Legolas' in the mirror and it was only mere moments before the corners of her lips turned up.

Haldir laughed in triumph and turned to the table next to him to pour a goblet of wine. "Come," he offered it out to Miraleth, who was finishing the other braid. "Have a drink with us."

"On what occasion?" Miraleth asked, but reached over to take the silver goblet from Haldir.

"Celebration."

"Mourning."

Miraleth paused in taking a sip and looked between the two elves, who had spoken at the same time.

"Celebration," Haldir spoke through the silence. "For seeing friends after so many years, and meeting new ones. I have heard much of Aragorn Elessar from Elrohir and Elladan, Miraleth." He looked to Legolas, his smile fading. "Alas…"

"Mourning," Legolas said, his voice soft. "For the great _Mithrandir." _

After sharing a glance, the three silently drank to both.

"Well," Legolas cut into the solemn silence. "I should get back to the rest." Miraleth watched him place his still half-full wine goblet onto the vanity in front of him before standing and touching her arm. "Miraleth?"

She stirred where she stood and smiled feebly at him. "I'll be there in a moment."

Legolas gazed at her for a long while, his eyes questioning her and hers staring stubbornly back, before inclining his head. "Very well." He reached over, and he and Haldir grasped forearms before Legolas turned to leave.

Once Legolas was gone, the two elves were left in silence. Haldir reached over and poured Miraleth another goblet of wine. Miraleth watched him as he did so, remapping the lines and contours of his strong, gentle face with her eyes. She _had_ missed him, no matter how often Arwen all but pulled the concept out of her head and banished it from conversation. "How have you fared, Haldir?"

After lowering himself into a chair, Haldir sighed and poured himself another goblet as well. "Lórien has not changed half as much as Imladris has, _gwennig._ It is I who should be asking you that."

"I think Lórien has changed very much," Miraleth quietly voiced, still watching him. "Much more than Imladris has."

He glanced at her, pausing in sipping his wine. "She sailed six years ago."

Miraleth started, shock clear in the gray of her eyes. Miraleth racked her mind. She had not known—had not even heard.

"Yes." Haldir snorted. "I was not quite enough for her in the end." He polished off his wine in one long gulp, and Miraleth started forward to snatch it from him.

"You will not rise out of sadness that way, I promise you." She scolded, taking the bottle as well.

"And who's to stop me?" He asked aloofly, his trademark mocking smirk on his lips. "You, _gwenning?_"

She stared at him. "You seem to forget, I always have before," she said quietly. "Although alcohol was never your vice."

"No, I suppose not," Haldir agreed after a moment.

"No reason to start now."

"No…I suppose not." His voice was soft, remorseful.

Without speaking, Miraleth took his hands in hers, running her thumbs over the smooth planes of his palm and feeling the barriers of his mind lower for her.

_—"I would sail for Valinor."_

_ "You would leave me."_

_ "I would do what needs to be done for my wellbeing, Haldir."_

_ A child with Haldir's eyes._

_ Haldir himself. Alone._

_ Countless hours of training and battle…distractions._

_ "I would do what needs to be done."—_

Miraleth dropped his hands, her eyes clouded. Haldir watched as they cleared again and at once became dark with sorrow for him. She parted her lips to speak. "There was…a child."

"Our child." His voice was nearly inaudible.

She met his eyes. "It did not survive."

"…No."

_"Naethen," _Miraleth murmured. Strange as the thought was, she knew how much Haldir had wanted children—strong boys to replace him as Marchwarden and beautiful girls to protect and shelter in the woods of Lothlórien.

And just like that, Haldir shut himself off, putting the normal cool, aloof expression back onto his face. He shook his head and turned the corners of his lips up. "Don't be. I'll be fine." He slipped his hands out of hers and busied himself with putting the wine away properly.

Miraleth smiled to herself. "Yes. Yes, you will be, Haldir."

Haldir glanced over his shoulder at her. "Enough with your sad eyes, _gwennig. _Smile, it suits you much better—there, see how lovely that is?" He smiled teasingly at her. "And how is Imladris in these times?

"No better or worse than it was last time you visited," Miraleth wandered about the small room, half-wondering whose flet it was.

"I suppose no change is better than unfortunate change," Haldir mused.

"Yes, I suppose that's true." Miraleth agreed, picking up a small, empty vase and examining it.

"And are you and Legolas madly in love yet?"

"_Sorry?_" Miraleth all but jumped, dropping the vase, which shattered on the wooden floor. She cursed when the porcelain pieces reached her feet and glanced at Haldir, brow furrowed and her face flushing furiously. "I—no. Why do you ask that?"

Haldir laughed and leaned down to help her pick up the shards of porcelain. "So the way you two look at each other when you think no one is looking is purely…platonic?"

"Well it must be; it's not anything else." Miraleth gave Haldir a strange glance.

"And that lovely blush on your cheeks now is also unrelated?"

"Yes." She stubbornly set her jaw and stood, unceremoniously dumping the porcelain pieces on the nearest table and busying herself with pouring the rest of the bottled wine into a pitcher—for Aragorn, he would surely appreciate it.

"Do not be angry with me, _gwennig,_ I am only asking harmless questions." Haldir laughed. "Although, those glances you two share surely can't be harmless."

"No? And why's that?"

"Because they're too _secret._"

Miraleth stared at him for a bit before shaking her head. "You're unbelievable." But her pale cheeks still flushed even further.

Haldir smiled. "So I've heard. Run back to your friends. They're waiting for you."

She raised her chin stubbornly. "I will, thank you," she said stiffly and started for the doorway. She turned for a second to glance at him, though. "I'm going to see them off tomorrow."

"I'll be there."

_"Hannon le."_

The corners of his lips turned up. "Anything for you, _gwennig._"

* * *

Legolas was waiting for her when she reached the ground, and he offered her his arm when she reached his side.

She stared at it, and then at him. Did he look at her a certain way when she wasn't looking? Did _she?_ She knew when they wanted to talk without speaking that they shared those long looks, but they were hardly secret, as Haldir had suggested. Or romantic. _Purely platonic,_ Haldir's voice echoed in her head. It was all purely platonic.

"Miraleth?"

She shook herself out of her thoughts and took Legolas' arm, like she had a thousand times before.

"Are you…alright?" He asked, worry creeping into his tone.

She glanced at him. "Yes, I'm fine. Here," she shoved the pitcher of wine she still held into his hands. "For Aragorn."

He took the pitcher without paying it any attention and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, studying her face. "Are you sure you're alright?"

She shook her head. "You should not worry about me so much." Even if she loved it when he did. "It's yourself you should be worried about…there aren't many more places that offer respite between here and Mordor."

Legolas smiled. "I think we'll be alright. We knew what we were agreeing to when we left Imladris."

Something whispered in the back of Miraleth's mind at that. _But did you? Did you really know? There are things that have not yet come to pass that cannot be foreseen or avoided…_

_Terrible things._

* * *

_The naked creature was hulking and massive, and towered over Saruman. It growled, its horrible, flat face dark with anger. Hair hung limp over its shoulders, and it stared straight ahead, aching to kill something with its bare hands. Fangs jutted out from its mouth and its eyes were alight with something its inferior orc-kin did not have: intelligence. _

_ Saruman circled around it, observing his handiwork. "And now…perfected. My fighting Uruk-hai." _

_ And then suddenly there was not just one, but hundreds, and Saruman stood before them. "Hunt them down! Do not stop until they are found! You do not know pain, you do not know fear. You will taste man-flesh!"_

Miraleth awoke in a cold, clammy sweat, breathing hard. She tumbled out of her bed and rushed out to the cool night air, not bothering to put anything over her night shift. Clinging to the railing of the staircase outside her flet, her eyes roamed Caras Galadhon, reassuring herself that she was safe—they were _all_ safe. There were no orcs, not here.

Except, the monsters in her dream had not been mere orcs.

_Uruk-hai._

Swallowing, she started a swift descent down the stairs and soon found herself in the center of Caras Galadhon, where the Fellowship slept. Starting towards one of the tents, she stepped over hobbits until she was at Aragorn's side. She shook him. "Aragorn," she whispered. He swatted her away and turned over. She swatted him back—twice as hard, across the arm. He gasped in surprised pain and sat up. "Aragorn!"

His eyes focused on her troubled face after a moment, and his breathing calmed. "What? It's the middle of the night."

"I saw something," she said, her lips trembling. "Saruman, and his…creatures."

"Orcs." Aragorn mumbled sleepily.

"No, not orcs," she shook her head and clutched at his arm when he began to lay back down. "Uruk-hai. Stronger and faster than orcs, and smarter. He sent out hundreds to hunt down the Fellowship."

This piqued Aragorn's interest, and he sat up again. "When did this happen?"

It was easy to distinguish the past, present, and future in the things Miraleth saw. Images of the past were more faded, more gray, than the vivid colors that made up images of things that were yet to come. This dream had been somewhere in the middle, though. "Just earlier today. Six hours, maybe."

"Come with me," Aragorn hissed out, the way he always did when something was urgent, and took her by the arm.

Normally, Miraleth would be horrified at the thought of waking the Lord and Lady of Lórien in the middle of the night on a whim, but this was quite an important whim. These Uruk-hai were nothing she had ever seen before and something she had only heard about in nightmare stories as a child—just one was the size of two orcs put together and all heavily corded muscle. Practically made for killing.

"And you're sure, child? Positive without a doubt?" Celeborn's voice was solemn as ever. Miraleth sat in a chair in the Lord and Lady's flet, Celeborn standing before her and Aragorn beside her. Galadriel had gone to look into her Mirror to try and See something of these Uruk-hai.

"Yes, I'm sure," Miraleth answered for the hundredth time. "And they are hunting the Fellowship. They do not know pain, fear, or exhaustion, and will not stop. This I have Seen."

Celeborn exhaled through his nose and was it silent until Galadriel appeared in the doorway. She nodded. "The child speaks true."

Celeborn was not as surprised as Miraleth had thought he would be, and he only bowed his head wearily. He and his wife exchanged a glance before Galadriel looked at Aragorn. "Aragorn," she said. A dismissal. Aragorn nodded and left, his footsteps swift.

Galadriel crossed the room to stand by her husband before turning and regarding Miraleth with sad eyes. "Your Sight is very strong, Miraleth. Even I had to seek out what came willingly to you."

"My lady," Miraleth murmured, bowing her head in thanks.

"And…that is why your father will understand."

Miraleth was silent. She frowned.  
"Danger awaits the Fellowship around every corner," Galadriel continued. "And without Gandalf, they have no way of seeing it." _If they are careful enough,_ Miraleth thought,_ it does not matter._ She was just about to tell Galadriel that Aragorn had enough caution for each member when the Lady of Light suddenly opened her mouth and said, "You will join them once more upon their departure in the morning."

Alarm bells began to ring in Miraleth's head. "My lady, my father—!"

"Trusts my judgment," Galadriel interrupted. "And he will understand."

"But—!" She began frantically.

"But nothing. A Fellowship without eyes stumbles blindly and without direction. You will be their eyes, child."

Miraleth shook her head, panic rising in her chest. Her father—her _brothers_ would die. Elrond had sent her out with the Fellowship with the intentions of her ending up _safely _in Lórien. He had never intended for her to actually be with the Fellowship until Mordor. He would never agree to such risk, and Elrohir and Elladan _certainly_ would not. "No, no, no, I'm very sorry, my lady, but—"

"_But nothing."_ There was an edge in Galadriel's voice that Miraleth did not wish to push.

She turned to Celeborn, who had remained quiet throughout the tense exchange. "My lord—!"

He looked away. "It is the wisest choice, child."

Miraleth shook her head, her voice fading to a whisper. "You would set me on the path to death," she accused. When neither Galadriel nor Celeborn replied, she jumped to her feet and tore out of the flet as if she had been burned.

* * *

_Gwennig—_little maiden

_Naethen—_I'm sorry

_Hannon le—_Thank you

* * *

**P.S. I love each and every one of you who reviewed and I will love you even more if you do it again.  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I was going to wait another week or so before publishing but I like seeing e-mails from FanFiction in my inbox too much, haha. **

**Also some logistical stuff-I have up to chapter 12 written, and that's where I reach the end of The Fellowship of the Ring. I haven't written any further because I'm not quite sure how to proceed. Would you, as readers, rather chapter 13 start with The Two Towers, or would you like to see some things that might happen in between the two storylines? (Because this is all going into one story, I don't want to have to bother with sequels and all that.)  
**

**So drop a line and give me your thoughts on that, if you'd be so incredibly kind. :)  
**

**(And also this chapter is a lot of filler so sorry in advance ok.)  
**

* * *

The Fellowship was curiously quiet when Miraleth awoke in the morning. They regarded her with sad, sympathetic glances, and it took her only a moment to realize that Aragorn had related the previous night's events to everyone before she had woken.

Legolas was the one to seek her out, and without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around her and held her as the sun rose and set the Golden Wood of Lórien afire, and as the rest of the Fellowship scurried around packing for the road to Mordor. Miraleth let all thoughts of Haldir and his suspicions fly from her mind as she leaned into her dearest friend, inhaling the heady scent of the forests of Mirkwood that still clung to Legolas like a blanket, even while he wore the silver garb of Lórien.

"I am not meant to go this way," she murmured into his chest, her dark hair fluttering over her eyes with the late autumn breeze. She had awoken to find her riding clothes folded over a chair, and had changed out of the silver gown. Now she wore the dark riding trousers and tunic once more. They had been washed, but she could not shake the smell of blood from her mind when she donned them.

Legolas brushed her hair out of her face with slender fingers. "None of us are."

He and Aragorn accompanied the oddly quiet Miraleth to the shore of the Anduin River, where three boats, supplies, and elves of Lórien awaited the Fellowship. The Lord and Lady of the Wood were there already, wearing all white and looking as sad and ageless as ever.

Celeborn lined them all up when they arrived, and ten elves stepped forward to wrap each of them in silvery cloaks of dark green, each with a leaf-shaped clasp at the throat. Miraleth pulled it tight around herself, as if she could retreat inside and never come out.

"Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people," Celeborn informed the Fellowship in his solemn, melodious voice. Miraleth wondered if she would ever hear it again. "May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes."

Galadriel stepped forward towards Legolas, then, and reached behind her to take something from an elf that stood there. "My gift for you, Legolas, is a bow of the Galadhrim, worthy of the skill of our woodland kin." The bow was lovely and slim and looked quite light, and Legolas held it with awed reverence when the Lady held it out for him. He stretched the bowstring, testing it, and wordlessly placed his hand over his heart, bowing his head towards Galadriel. She smiled, and moved on to her granddaughter, who stood next to Legolas, as always.

"Miraleth, my child. Blood of my blood." Miraleth could not tell exactly what emotion shone in Galadriel's bright eyes. "This vial holds water from my Mirror." She held out a small, silver vial of water. Miraleth could feel its magic when she took it; it pulsated slightly with the vitality and life that she would always associate with the Golden Wood. "May it help you seek out the answers you so desire." Just as Miraleth was about to thank her grandmother, she met her icy gaze. _But be warned, child,_ Galadriel's voice echoed in her head. _Use it sparingly. You know the consequences. _Instead of responding in kind, Miraleth only bowed her head in acknowledgment. She did know the consequences, and she thought back on what she had told dear Pippin. _The Mirror does not give without taking._

But Galadriel put on a smile and continued her journey down the line, pausing to give Merry and Pippin matching Noldorin daggers, which they drew slowly and excitedly, and Sam a coil of Elvish rope, which he thanked her for even as he took a wistful glance at Merry and Pippin's gifts ("Have you run out of those nice, shiny daggers, m'lady?").

The whole forest seemed to quiet when Galadriel stepped in front of Gimli, who had been fidgeting uncomfortably the whole time they had been standing there. He did not meet Galadriel's eyes, even when she spoke to him. "And what gift would a Dwarf ask of the Elves?"

"Nothing..." Just when Miraleth thought he was going to say something crude or use his favorite Elvish phrase on Galadriel as he had Haldir, he fidgeted some more and glanced up at her. "Except…to look upon the Lady of the Galadhrim one last time, for she is more fair than all the jewels beneath the earth."

Galadriel laughed, flattered by the praise, while Miraleth, Legolas, and Aragorn looked on in amazement. How many times had they heard the son of Gloin curse every last one of the elves? And now he paid one the highest compliment.

As Gimli stammered out words and mumbled to himself, Aragorn grinned and tugged Legolas and Miraleth away. "Come," he murmured. "The hobbits need help loading the boats."

"Aragorn." Galadriel stopped them in their tracks. "A moment for your Lady?" She smiled.

"Of course." Aragorn nodded, but nudged Legolas and Miraleth towards the river to help prepare for their departure.

They left Aragorn to speak with Galadriel and went to help Merry and Pippin, who had mostly ignored the packs of food and clothes on the shore and were sitting on the boat, watching the elves go about. Miraleth sat down next to them—she had refused to count herself as part of the Fellowship and was also refusing to help with any Fellowship business, though Legolas said it was only because she was upset—as Legolas began to load pack after pack into the small, wooden rowboat.

He opened one and withdrew a square of bread, smiling. "Lembas! Elvish way-bread," he remarked, smiling down at his companions. He nibbled on the corner and chewed slowly, thoughtfully. "One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man."

Merry and Pippin smiled politely and watched Legolas scurry off to get more packs. Merry glanced at Pippin. "How many did you eat?"

After a moment of thought, Pippin smiled lazily at Merry and Miraleth. "Four." He belched.

"Pippin…" Miraleth sighed and shook her head before standing to go after Legolas.

Instead, she found Boromir, who leaned against a tree trunk, watching Galadriel and Aragorn speak. "Miraleth," he bowed his head.

Despite her initial discomfort around the man, he had grown on her a bit during their recent travels. There was darkness in him, but there was also strength and honor, as he repeatedly claimed of men. She smiled slightly. "Hello, Boromir."

He nodded his chin at Aragorn and Galadriel. "Can you hear what they're saying?"

She looked over at where they spoke to each other. Galadriel was reaching out a hand to brush her fingers over the Evenstar that Aragorn wore around his neck. _"I have nothing greater to give than the gift you already bear, Aragorn," _Galadriel murmured somberly.

"Yes…they are speaking about my sister." Miraleth leaned back to rest against the trunk of the mellorn with Boromir.

"Arwen Undómiel. I met her." Bormor looked at her. "In Rivendell, I mean. What are they saying about her?"

Miraleth's smile faded and her light seemed to dim as she watched their lips. "The Lady Galadriel…fears my sister will fade away into mortality. It is the price she would have to pay for Aragorn." Miraleth watched Aragorn respond. "And…Aragorn is saying he would have her sail for Valinor, to be with her people, but…" Miraleth smiled ruefully and shook her head. "My sister is stubborn."

"Valinor is…?"

"The Undying Lands." Miraleth tore her attention away from the man and the elleth to look at Boromir. "The only home as immortal as we."

"Ah, yes." Realization came over Boromir's face. "This is where elvenkind is retreating? My father says they are all going somewhere. All the villages near Gondor have disappeared."

"Yes," Miraleth nearly whispered, her eyes far away. When she ceased to think and allowed her nature to take over her mind, she could almost feel the ocean wind in her hair and the salty drops of water on her face. The very core of her being yearned for it. "After so many ages in Middle Earth, the sea calls us home."

Boromir nodded thoughtfully before directing her attention back towards Aragorn and Galadriel. "What are they speaking of now?"

Miraleth shook herself out of her reverie and glanced over. Galadriel's gaze had left the Evenstar and her blue eyes rested on Aragorn's honest face now. Miraleth listened for her words, frowning when she heard the ominous tone the Lady's voice had taken. _"You have your own choice to make, Aragorn_._ To rise above the height of all your fathers since the days of Elendil…or to fall into darkness, with all that is left of your kin."_

Miraleth knew an omen when she heard one.

"…Miraleth?"

Miraleth blinked and glanced at Boromir's worried face. She drew a breath. "Nothing. They are not speaking about anything." Without another word, she stalked away to help Sam with some of the packs he had not been strong enough to move.

Just halfway to her destination, a heavy hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks. Expecting to see Legolas, annoyed for her having spoken to Boromir (the elf did not much admire the man), she turned around with a sharp retort on her tongue, but the words died in her throat when she saw that it was not Legolas at all.

After a long moment of silence, Haldir smirked. When he spoke, his voice was cool and aloof and every bit the voice of a Marchwarden, as always. "I promised your brothers I would keep you safe once you reached Lórien. How am I supposed to do so with you running off to Mordor?"

The combined effect of Haldir's face and the mention of her brothers kept Miraleth's voice from working, so instead she rushed forward into his arms. While Haldir had never been a touchy or sentimental person, he was quite used to Miraleth and the way she had never cared about that, and he wrapped his arms around her and sighed. He'd had her back for just over a day and now she was leaving once more. "We are supposed to be keeping you safe_._"

"I know," she murmured. _"Navaer, Haldir._

He sighed again and they released each other. "Smile, _gwennig._ We will see each other again soon." He reached for the quiver of arrows over his back. "Here. Rumil and Orophin took quite a liking to you; insisted on a farewell gift. The fletching on these arrows are swan feathers from an outpost to the west. Very rare. They bring their archer good luck and easy shooting."

Miraleth smiled softly and took the quiver, stroking a finger over the long white feathers at the ends of the arrows. "You will give them my thanks? I will miss them."

"Of course." He nodded once.

Miraleth heard Aragorn call her name, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him beckon her over. "Yes, I'm coming!" She called back and turned back towards Haldir.

He clutched her small hands in his. _"Sílo Anor bo men lín, Miraleth._"

She smiled. _May the sun shine upon your road._ "I seem to get told that quite often upon my departures."

Haldir grinned. "Because you are the sun's mistress, _gwennig,_ and the sun always goes with you to light your way."

* * *

The Anduin River, for all its beauty, was bleak and lonely that day, even as she sat in the rowboat listening to Legolas and Gimli bicker about this and that.

Legolas especially seemed to enjoy teasing Gimli about his attachment to the Lady Galadriel. "I have taken my worst wound at this parting, having looked my last upon that which is fairest," Gimli claimed melodramatically, a hand clenched over his heart. "And henceforth I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me."

Legolas and Miraleth exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised. "What was it?"

"I asked her for one hair from her golden head," Gimli said dreamily, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "She gave me three."

Miraleth rolled her eyes. "You are aware, aren't you, that you're infatuated with my grandmother?" she murmured irritably.

Gimli ignored her and sighed deeply. "Alas, I can only hope to look upon her fair face again, but one can only push their good fortune so far…what about you, lass?" He finally turned his attention to Miraleth. "Get any nice going-away gifts from that blonde elf you spent so much time with? The arrogant one."

"Haldir," Legolas said when Miraleth only gave Gimli a strange look.

"Yes, that one. You just know every elf out there, don't you?" Gimli grumbled. "I'd hate to hear how you got so close with this one."

Miraleth shrugged. "We were betrothed once," she offered softly, disinterestedly looking out over the shining water.

Pippin's head spun to look at her from the boat he and Merry shared with Boromir, his mouth agape. "You two were going to be _married?"_

She glanced at him. "It was purely arranged. The youngest Lady of Rivendell and the Marchwarden of Lórien; it was a practical match."

"And what happened?" Merry demanded. "Why didn't you?"

She looked at him for a moment. "He fell in love."

The hobbits shrugged at each other as if to say _what a shame _before turning back to face the front of their boat, but Miraleth could nearly hear Legolas' teeth grinding together behind her as he rowed the boat onward. He had never quite forgiven Haldir for backing out on Miraleth like so, even though in Miraleth's opinion, there had been nothing to forgive. But then, she had been young and naïve and romantic, Legolas liked to remind her, and at the time, there had been nothing more romantic to Miraleth than Haldir risking everything he was, everything he had, just for the sake of his love for someone.

* * *

Each night, camp was made on the rocky, wooded shore of the Anduin, and the hobbits would make a stew out of whatever game could be caught. Miraleth remained fairly quiet as the days passed, paying much of her attention to the wellbeing of the hobbits and the sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach. At night, she dreamed of great, hulking monsters with dark skin and bloodied teeth. The only member of the Fellowship who tossed and turned at night as much as she was poor Frodo.

On the seventh day on the Anduin, Miraleth could hardly keep the nausea from her head, and she kept an unwavering gaze at the horizon behind them, a worried frown on her lips.

It was just past midday when Legolas glanced at her anxious face. "How far away are they?" He asked grimly.

"Some few leagues," she answered quietly. As the most immediate danger, the Uruk-hai that hunted them invaded Miraleth's mind through her Sight even while she remained awake. She could see them running over mosses and dirt and fallen logs, and she could hear the heavy sounds of their sprinting. "But they are moving very quickly…quicker than we anticipated." They hadn't counted on the Uruk-hai ever catching up to them—not when they'd had to run all the way from Isengard. But, as promised, these new creatures were fast, and did not know fatigue or exhaustion, as their orc-brethren did.

Gimli scoffed from his spot between the two elves. "I say let them come; let them taste our steel!" He crossed his arms and huffed. "Uruk-hai…dressed-up orcs, and nothing more."

Miraleth smiled at the dwarf's confidence, and Legolas whistled to get Aragorn's attention. When he pulled up alongside Legolas, both their faces were grim. "They are gaining on us," Legolas said. "And quickly."

Aragorn swore under his breath and turned his gaze to Miraleth. "How much longer?"

"A day, perhaps." She shook her head once. "Too soon. We will not outrun them."

"Can you See any further than that?" Sam piped up from his spot in front of Aragorn, worry etched on his face.

Miraleth regarded him for a moment, and then shook her head. "Not clearly, no. But I can promise you your life, at least, for some weeks longer, Samwise Gamgee."

Sam's shoulders dropped in relief, before he started again and nudged a silent Frodo with his knee. "What about Mr. Frodo? Can you See anything about him?"

Miraleth was silent longer this time. She had Seen things of Frodo. Dark, hopeless things. The Ring's influence grew heavier on the young hobbit's heart with each passing day and she could see the shadow grow in his eyes. And always, there was Gollum, who tracked them still on the river, no matter how hard Aragorn had tried to shake him off. If Frodo continued down the path he was on, he and Smeagol would share the same fate. And now she saw Sam's hopeful eyes staring up at her, full of love for his friend Frodo. "If you stay with him, Sam, I can promise his life just as much as yours."

Sam nodded after a moment of contemplation and resigned to tying knots in his Elvish rope, and Aragorn pulled his boat away to catch up with Boromir. Legolas sighed, rowing faster. Whether it was to catch up with Aragorn and Boromir or to try and escape the mass of Uruk-hai that ran behind them, neither Miraleth nor Gimli could say.

On the eighth day, as promised, Miraleth looked up from a splintered bit of wood on the edge of the boat to the sound of heavy footfalls over the ground of the wooded area alongside the river. Her eyes darted between the trees, looking for a sight to accompany the sounds of rustling armor and masses of flesh crashing through the brush.

"Legolas," She reached over to tug on his sleeve just as something growled and snorted in the woods—if she hadn't known any better, she would've thought an angry bear had come out of its cave.

And then she saw them—ugly, hulking, filthy-looking things with ratted hair and dirty skin. One of them was taller and wider than all the rest, and he ran at the front of the band of orcs. Legolas called to Aragorn and nodded towards the woods.

Aragorn shouted for Legolas and Boromir to row faster. "Keep going," he called. "We'll make camp tonight on the other side of the river—they won't cross near here, the water's too deep."

Miraleth did what she could to speed the river's currents—after all, the Anduin headed in the forests of Lórien, where the magic of her people was strong. Traces of it still remained in the water, even this far downstream, and she willed the flowing of the river to echo the flowing of the Elvish from her lips the best she could.

A couple hours later, just before sunset, they pulled the boats up onto the rocky shore and set about making camp. Aragorn had chosen a small, pocketed-away part of the shoreline, surrounded by densely packed woods. The shorelines of the Anduin didn't offer much for safety, but this was probably the closest they were going to get. Even so, the hobbits whispered as they pitched makeshift tents, and Aragorn smacked Pippin's hands away when he caught him trying to coax flame onto a pile of branches. (Several hours later, though, when the Fellowship had relaxed enough to know that they wouldn't be attacked in their sleep, Aragorn allowed for a small campfire so Sam could cook a rabbit Legolas had shot.)

But even after the fright of being attacked had melted away somewhat, the tension in the small campsite remained.

Frodo, who had still not eaten all day, despite Sam's ardent protests, had lain down under a "tent"—a cloak propped up by sticks under the corners of the fabric—and simply stared off into space, one hand playing with the outline of the Ring that was under his shirt. Miraleth had taken to raking her hand through Frodo's dark curls and absentmindedly humming an Elvish lullaby, just to hear something familiar in the midst of the strangeness around her. She wasn't sure where Legolas and Gimli had run off to (but Gimli had muttered something about rabbits before they had left), and it was strange to not have Legolas there, for the first time on this absurd quest she had gotten wrapped up in.

"Miraleth," Frodo started.

"Yes, Frodo?"

"They…they're arguing again."

Miraleth paused, even though she already knew what Aragorn and Boromir's hushed tones argued about. She had heard them—and tried to ignore them—from the moment Boromir opened his mouth. Boromir would have them pass through Minas Tirith—the once great city of Men. Aragorn, though, knew better than to take the One Ring anywhere near Gondor.

She raked her fingers through Frodo's curls again. "Shhh," she soothed. "Go to sleep, little hobbit."

"He will try and take it," Frodo ignored her and said instead, his voice shaking the slightest bit. "She said so. The Lady Galadriel."

Miraleth faltered and peered down towards Frodo's face, her eyes searching his. "Who will try and take it?"

Frodo did not answer; he only stared up at her, his eyes begging for understanding. He wasn't going to say another word about it, so instead of pressing the poor hobbit for answers, she raked her fingers through his curls again. "No one is going to take anything from you, Ring-bearer."

There was silence for a moment as Frodo closed his eyes and Miraleth resumed her humming, and then, "Miraleth?"

"Yes?"

"Does that lullaby you're humming have any words to it?"

"…Yes," she replied quietly, after a moment's hesitation. "But they're very sad. You wouldn't want to hear them."

"All Elvish songs are sad," Frodo remarked sorrowfully, and was asleep before Miraleth could say otherwise.

And once his breathing evened out to a deep, slow pace, Miraleth quietly sang the words to herself. If they were sad, they also offered a strange comfort in that they reminded her of home. Elrohir and Elladan had never cared for the lullaby in particular, and Valor knows her father couldn't stand it, but her mother had continually sung it under her breath during her last, crazed, dark days in Rivendell.

That night Miraleth dreamt of something different than the usual horrors.

There was a balrog, a dying flame, and a man cloaked in white.

_Gandalf._

* * *

_Navaer—_Farewell

_Sílo Anor bo men lín—_May the sun shine upon your road


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I'm baaaaaaaackkkkk.**

**Kind of, I mean school is still devouring my soul, holiday season (for musicians at least) is starting so I'll be in rehearsals every week, and it's tournament season for speech & debate, but...I'm still here. Ok.  
**

* * *

On the ninth day, the last day, Aragorn woke the Fellowship before the sun rose, and they drowsily packed everything away, doused the embers from the campfire, and fell into the boats, half-asleep, barely mumbling incoherent good mornings.

Miraleth was exhausted, but she couldn't have felt more awake as she climbed into the boat after Gimli. Her mind was racing. It had been a long, dream-riddled night, and the Valar had not wanted to leave her be. As it was, she could barely make sense of anything she'd Seen. Because what she had Seen was—well…an impossibility. Because each of them had _seen_ Gandalf fall into the depths of Khazad-dûm. They had witnessed it with their own eyes.

There was no coming back from that, even for the great _Mithrandir._

But even so…her Sight had never lied to her before.

She had never actively sought anything out before. She had never had to; had never had any reason to. The nature of her Sight didn't exactly work that way anyways.

But if there was any chance that Gandalf lived, Miraleth was willing to try.

She had seen her father sit in his study countless times, unseeing and unhearing as he concentrated on whatever it was he sought. She picked up the mahogany bow at her feet, ran her hand along the wooden arch, and let her vision unfocus as she gazed ahead at nothing.

* * *

Legolas' eyes darted towards Miraleth again. She had been sitting silently, her eyes blank, for the better part of two hours. In this state, she was no better company than the hobbits, who were snoring again as soon as they had set off that morning. Her hand ran lazily, lightly, along the wooden arch of her bow.

Boromir had been casting back looks every so often as well, and now he pulled his boat back to row alongside Legolas. "What's wrong with her?" He asked, frowning, and leaned over to reach towards Miraleth.

Legolas' hand darted forward and grabbed Boromir's wrist before he could snap his fingers before her face. "She is Seeing," he said. "Leave her be."

Boromir glanced at him in surprise. "Is that what she's doing?" He pulled his hand back from Legolas' hold. "Forgive me," he began, sarcasm only just tinging his words. "I thought your _Seeing_ would be a little more…impressive."

Legolas set his jaw and bit back remarks.

"Boromir!" Aragorn snapped from the other side of Legolas. He had slowed his rowing to pull back and see what the commotion was about. Boromir met his gaze and held it. "Enough," Aragorn only said. Boromir looked away. Legolas had heard their arguing once again the night before, and could plainly see in the man's crinkled eyes that Boromir was still quite bitter about it. The ginger-haired man muttered something unintelligible and looked down, angrily working his oar through the water.

Aragorn and Legolas watched him go before Aragorn nodded towards Miraleth. "How long has she been like this?"

"Long enough to have Seen something important, or to think so, at least," Legolas replied. He had never seen Miraleth concentrate so completely on trying to See. It made him anxious to know what was going on in that lovely little head of hers.

"Does the bow she's holding onto have anything to do with it?" Aragorn followed Miraleth's slender fingers as they trailed up and down the length of the bow. Her other hand was clenched so tightly around the wood her knuckles were turning white. Although he had been raised among elves, he was not well-versed in the knowledge of the Sight. Besides Lord Elrond, he had never known anyone so deeply gifted with it, and it had remained at the back of his mind until he met the Lady Miraleth.

Legolas shifted his weight. "Brush your bare fingertips across those of someone with the foresight, and you are telling them everything about you there is to know. Let them have something of you—a lock of hair, a possession, a gift—and if they so desire, you are still telling them half the things there are to know about you."

"A talisman?"

"Of a sort."

Aragorn looked away for a moment. "The bow is Miraleth's. So its significance, then, is in its connection to its maker or giver."

"Or both." Legolas gazed at him, the corners of his lips twitching downwards.

"Who gave her the bow?"

He sighed. "Gandalf."

* * *

Miraleth stirred just as they were passing the Argonath. The two great stone statues, sculpted from the likenesses of Kings of Men, stretched towards the sky, their faces solemn and their hands outstretched in a _halt_ gesture as they guarded their kingdom even as it faded away under the shadow of Mordor. Miraleth saw Aragorn point them out to Frodo—as if he possibly could've missed them.

She twisted on her seat in the boat, both to stretch her back and place her bow down behind her, and hid a yawn behind slender fingers. "What time is it?" She asked Gimli, who glanced at her.

"Early afternoon. Find what you were looking for, lass?" Gimli asked, and tapped his temple with his fingers, winking hugely, just in case she missed his meaning.

"Perhaps," she murmured and met Legolas' eyes behind Gimli's. _Later,_ her eyes promised. He nodded once.

Beyond the Argonath, the Anduin widened out into a lake, and then ended abruptly with the Falls of Rauros, over which the water seemed to careen off the edge of the world. They had made good time; it was still light outside. Aragorn signaled towards the rocky shoreline—the last of it they would see, hopefully—and pulled his boat onto the land, helping Boromir and Legolas when they caught up. The hobbits, upset at having missed most of their various daily meals, immediately set about making a small fire and collecting all the pots and pans from where they hung on Sam's back. Merry and Pippin all but ordered Boromir to go fetch dry firewood and a good rabbit or two, and he laughed and nodded, disappearing into the woods.

"So," Miraleth started, glancing back at Aragorn as she, Legolas, and Gimli collected the bedrolls and blankets from the boats. Aragorn stood at the edge of the water, arms crossed, gazing out over to the east side of the lake. "Where does our road lie from here?"

He pointed. "We cross the lake at nightfall. Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north." He turned and headed towards their camp.

"I…the north?" After exchanging glances, the three were right on his heels, interjecting with stutters and stammers.

"Aragorn, the way is—"

"Really, it's quite dangerous—"

"—think you could just casually sneak it by us, eh, laddie?!"

Aragorn silenced them with a sharp look over his shoulder. He checked around for Boromir and then leaned in towards them. "Would you rather, then," he muttered, "pass through the desperation of Gondor? The Ring is no safer there than on Sauron's finger." He shook his head and straightened back up. "No, we take the road from the north."

Gimli lowered himself onto a tree stump next to Pippin with a grunt and looked, wide eyed, back at Aragorn. "Oh, yes? It's just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, is that it? An impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks! And after that, it gets even better!"

Pippin stopped chewing and his gaze snapped to the dwarf. "Even…even better?"

Legolas, however, knew just what lay down the road Aragorn was proposing, and he had no wish to hear it spoken out loud. _The Marshes._ Instead, he wandered over to the treeline and peered through the foliage, frowning. "Miraleth," he called softly.

She came, turning away from the dwarf who was now complaining about the Dead Marshes, and stood next to Legolas, following his eyes through the trees. "See something?"

"Do you?"

She fought rolling her eyes. "Not quite how that works, Legolas."

He didn't reply for a moment, but then he sighed once and turned to stalk back towards Aragorn. After casting one more worried glance through the trees, Miraleth hurried to follow, easily slipping her arms through the crook of Legolas' elbow once she caught up.

Legolas gazed sharply at Aragorn. "We should leave _now._"

Aragorn shook his head. "No. Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for the cover of darkness."

Legolas only turned back to look towards the forest, exasperation etched into his face. "It is not the eastern shore that worries me." A cold breeze rushed from the woods and lifted their hair. It didn't belong—not with the warmth of the sun on their skin. "Something draws near. I can feel it."

Just as Aragorn parted his lips to respond, Merry spoke from across the camp, absentmindedly, almost to himself. "Where's Frodo?"

The idle chatter in the camp grew quiet as the deafening silence grew louder. Miraleth turned to look to both her sides, then behind her, and then she whirled around, trying to catch a glimpse of her little hobbit.

Aragorn was the one to break the tension by striding forward, his eyes locked on a shield and bedroll leaning against a tree. Boromir's shield and bedroll. "Boromir…" he muttered breathlessly and picked up the shield, handing it to Miraleth when she appeared at his side.

Miraleth ran her hand over the hide cover of the shield, her fingers grazing the metal disc in the middle. The shield almost never left Boromir's side, and for that reason, holding the edges of the shield in her hands was nearly as good as pressing her fingers to Boromir's forehead.

_—"Bring the One Ring to Gondor. We would have our kingdom protected, son of mine."_

"_Yes, Father."_

_The One Ring reflecting in Boromir's eyes._

_It hungered for power. __**He**__ hungered for power._

_And they would have power._

_**Ash nazg durbatulûk.—**_

Miraleth shied away from the darkened images and remembered what Frodo had whispered to her the night before—_"He will try and take it,"—_and her gaze rose to anxious faces.

Legolas spoke for her, grasping Aragorn's shoulder and meeting his eyes. "Hurry."

* * *

"Frodo will be fine, Sam," Pippin nodded with a smile. "Aragorn's only been gone a few moments, and he'll be back in a few more. Don't worry so much! Here, have some sausage." He shoved another sausage link onto Sam's plate. "Do you want any, Miraleth?"

"No, thank you, Pippin," she murmured absentmindedly and turned away towards the treeline. The setting sun of the late afternoon reflected off the lake water and lit the trees afire with a warm haze. It lit up the leaves, and old stone ruins in the shrubs, and Legolas' long, blonde hair where he stood facing the woods. His arms were crossed in front of him and his left foot was braced on the top of a rock. His eyes remained traveling through the trees when Miraleth went to stand next to him and he was silent for a moment before speaking. "Something's coming," he said quietly.

Miraleth glanced up at him before casting her gaze back out into the forest. Shadows moved between the branches and whispers wisped through the leaves like wind. "I know. The trees are anxious."

Legolas smiled wryly. "I forgot how ardently the trees adore you. Whispering all their secrets for you to hear."

The trees always had loved Miraleth, even after they had grown still and silent and retreated into themselves, drawing back into their forests. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Not quite as ardently as their inhabitants adore Arwen." Just as the trees loved Miraleth, anything that ran, flew, or swam in Middle-earth all but belonged to Arwen.

Legolas ignored the half-harmless remark after brushing a hand against her lower back to sooth the subtle tension in Miraleth's words. "Did you See this? With Boromir? I thought you said he was growing on you."

Miraleth's lips turned down. "Boromir is a part of this Fellowship, and above all he wants to see Sauron defeated. He is strong and courageous. Loyal to the end. But," she added when Legolas opened his mouth to interject. "He is loyal first to his father and he would do what he thinks is the best thing for the kingdom of Men, even if that includes bringing the Ring to Gondor."

"But you had to have known."

She rubbed down goosebumps on her arm. "I did not think it would be quite so…soon."

"You did not See?"

Miraleth chuckled bitterly and shook her head once. "You know that's not how it works."

"Speaking of," Legolas said, his eyebrow piquing. "Earlier today you seemed quite occupied."

And instantly, Miraleth's entire demeanor changed. Dejected and withdrawn became excited and hopeful, and a sparkle that Legolas had not seen for some time began to light in her bright eyes. She took a deep breath as a slow smile spread over her face. "Oh, Legolas. It's…"

"What is it?" Legolas asked, trying to keep his voice from lightening. Watching Miraleth light up like that was like watching the sun rise and he found himself wanting to smile regardless of any worry that had just filled his heart. His eyes met hers—those lovely rain-colored eyes—and he did smile, unconsciously leaning towards her like a moth drawn to flame.

"I'm not entirely sure, of course."

"You sat there for hours."

"Yes. But everything was very…dim. Unclear."

"Something powerful."

She nodded, the hope coursing through her veins rendering her nearly breathless. "Yes, yes, powerful enough to be able to do that."

"How many things can do that?" Legolas was supposed to feel cautious, he knew, but Miraleth's obvious excitement was contagious and he could feel the inklings of curiosity take hold in his mind.

Miraleth shook her head. "Only a few."

"Such as?"

_The Istari._

Her lips had eased into a full, hopeful grin now, and she stepped forward. "Legolas, I have Seen—"

She stopped cold. Her smile faded and her excitement seemed to leave her in a _whoosh_ along with her breath_._ She was no longer looking at Legolas, but straight ahead, her face pale.

Legolas' gaze snapped down to her hands—upon stepping forward towards him, she had braced her palms against the nearest tree, and now she pressed her cheek against the bark as she listened to the forest whisper. "What is it?"

After half a moment, she turned and fled back to their campsite, calling over her shoulder, "Aragorn!"

Gimli did a double take as she ran past him to snatch up her bow, and Sam jumped to his feet. "If Aragorn's in trouble then Mr. Frodo's in trouble!" he cried, and reached for his shortsword. After exchanging a shocked glance, Merry and Pippin leapt up and followed his lead.

"_Baw! Baw!_ You are staying here, _peredhil!"_ Miraleth rushed out, half in Elvish, as she reached for the quiver Haldir had given her.

"Legolas!" Gimli was rumbling, brandishing his axe from his tree stump. "Help me up, Legolas, the laddie needs us!"

Legolas reached down and pulled Gimli up without a second glance, and the two of them ran off into the woods.

"Miraleth, let us help!" Merry set his jaw, starting after Legolas and Gimli. "We've been in battle before!"

She shook her head and planted her hand on Merry's chest, keeping him from going any further. "I don't think so, little hobbit. In Moria there was no other choice but for you to fight for your life, but those were hardly even orcs, they were _bugs,_ half-goblin, and these are Saruman's Uruk-hai. They would pick you up and snap you in two, Meriadoc Brandybuck." She glanced at Pippin and Sam, who stood just behind Merry, the same determined spark in their round eyes. "You. Will. Stay. _Here._"

"But Mr. Frodo—!"

"Will never forgive you if you get killed for him." They were silent at that. "Hmm?" Pippin mumbled something. Miraleth leaned towards the hobbits and lay her hands on Merry's shoulders. _"Stay," _she whispered, whirled around, and disappeared into the trees after Legolas and Gimli.

* * *

_Baw-No_

_Peredhil-Hobbit_

* * *

**Remember, I love those reviews. c: **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Surpise I'm alive don't kill me ok. School and music and life and stuff has just been completely devouring me.  
**

**If you're still with this story at all and haven't taken if off your alert list, thank you thank you thank you, you beautiful person you. :)**

* * *

The surge of orcs did not seem endless, as it did in Moria, and after some minutes of Gimli's vulgar insults to Miraleth's right and the whistle of Aragorn's blade to her left—she could hear the soft twang of Legolas' bowstring somewhere behind her as well—the crowd of creatures seemed to lessen to a slightly manageable stream.

Feeling slightly more confident in their near-victory, Legolas had picked a place to stand in the middle of the clearing and was picking off the Uruk-hai one by one, as if for target practice, while Miraleth kept the stragglers off his back. Gimli, who had discovered that most of the orcs seemed to overlook him at first, had taken to simply embedding his axe into every back he could reach while he cursed and yelled. A short distance away, Aragorn was grappling hand-to-hand with an Uruk-hai easily twice his size.

"Legolas!" he called through clenched teeth when the orc threw him up against the stone ruin behind him.

Legolas nocked and arrow and shot the orc in the back, chuckling when Aragorn bent over and put his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. He'd only had a short respite when another orc raised its weapon against him with a bellow. Aragorn rolled his eyes, dived to retrieve his sword from the ground, and turned to deal with this foe.

And then the horn sounded.

It sounded in three short bursts in a deep, mellow tone that seemed to reverberate through Miraleth's bones and rattle her brain inside her skull. And just like everyone else in sight, she stopped cold in attacking whatever stood before her and turned to peer into the trees in the direction the sound had come from. It was not a horn she had ever heard before, but somehow she knew what it was all the same.

"The horn of Gondor!" Legolas' eyes had widened almost imperceptibly and he lowered his bow a fraction of an inch, caught off guard. A rock seemed to drop in the pit of Miraleth's stomach. She had nearly completely forgotten about—

_"Boromir,"_ Aragorn rushed out, not wasting a second before pushing past Legolas and into the trees, a new fire in his eyes as he ran towards the sound.

"Boromir," Miraleth echoed absentmindedly, trying to catch her breath as she watched him run off. She exchanged a quick glance with Legolas and Gimli and after a silent moment, they started off after Aragorn further into the woods.

And just like that, masses of orcs were on them again, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Miraleth cursed and shot down the first creature in her sight. They had felt they were nearing a victory when the stream of orcs had started to disappear, but now she saw that they had not been defeated—they had _run_ and were now coming back with a vengeance. She shot another one, cursing louder. The trees groaned and whispered their displeasure at this onslaught of violence. When the orcs realized there was still an enemy to be fought in herself, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn, some of them turned to raise their ugly iron weapons against them…but the others kept running.

_But not away,_ Miraleth reminded herself bitterly as she riddled an orc's ribcage with arrows, turning to shoot the next one after he fell. _Towards Boromir._

For some unfathomable reason, they wanted Boromir more than they wanted the rest, but Miraleth didn't have much time to think on it, as another orc bellowed behind her, raising its weapon and inviting her to cut its arms off. Boromir could take care of himself until they arrived—at least the hobbits were safe at the campsite.

The horn sounded again, the bursts closer together this time. _Hurry,_ they shouted at anyone who would hear, half demanding and half pleading. _Hurry, hurry, hurry._

Perhaps he couldn't take care of himself.

"Aragorn!" Legolas called, slipping his bow over his back and pulling his daggers from his waist to slice and chop at the enemies who had gotten too close to shoot.

Aragorn only grunted in response as he swung his sword behind him, tearing open an orc's chest.

"Go!" Legolas pointed further into the trees with a dagger. Aragorn stared at him.

The horn sounded again, louder, and Miraleth's stomach clenched in anxiety. "We are not going to get there in time, Aragorn, _go!_"

With a swear and one last exasperated glance at his companions, he turned and ran deeper into the woods, tearing down whichever orcs he could on the way.

When she could no longer see the dark fabric of Aragorn's cloak, she turned back to the battle and ran to help Gimli, who was battling three Uruk-hai at once. "I'll teach you to overlook a dwarf!"He shouted gruffly, striking one down and smacking the next across the face with the flat side of his axe. While its face was turned to the side, Miraleth's blade went clean through his neck and out the other side—she wrenched it out, dodging the spray of dark blood, and whirled around to glare at two orcs who thought they could take her off guard. But when they lay at her feet, four more sprang up to take their place, and Miraleth grimaced, her blades faltering slightly before striking out even faster than before. When they lay at her feet as well, though, she felt a jab from behind that would have run her through if she had not already been starting forward—she twisted to look over her shoulder, blades raised, and her heart jumped into her throat at the not two, or four, but _eight_ Uruk-hai that were starting towards her, and just as one was about to slice through her, something _roared_ in the distance, and nearly every orc in the clearing turned to glance at the sound before beginning to retreat. Miraleth kept her defensive stance but did nothing more, dumbfounded.

Until one of them called, _"Finish the she-elf—he wants her dead!"_ and just as Legolas and Gimli whirled around, astonishment clear on their faces, every single orc that had not yet fled turned and sprinted towards her. Her heart that had previously jumped into her throat plummeted down to her stomach.  
It seemed like her blades had to be in twelve places at once and even still, some of the orcs managed to just barely drag their weapons across her stomach, arms, back, drawing red lines across her pale skin. _"No,"_ she gasped when she caught a curved weapon an inch from her nose, her hands trembling as she cast it back towards her attacker. She was just barely aware of Gimli's yelling as he swung his axe into the mass of dark flesh that surrounded her, and Legolas somewhere to her right, trying to fight his way through the orcs and to her side, the metal of his daggers whistling through the air as he called her name. All at once, the shades Saruman had sent to Imladris for her flashed through her mind, all dark and shadows and silence, and she struggled to keep her blades going through the air. _These are not shades, _she set her jaw and told herself. _They are only orcs. You have killed a hundred of them before._ But they were not the orcs she was used to. Just one of them was three times the size of her, and quite significantly taller, and they were a bit quicker in both mind and body than the dim, stupid orcs she was used to.

No matter. She kept her blades moving, twisting and twirling this way and that to strike down whatever she could. She would be damned if she met her end at the hands of the lowest of Saruman's servants, _but by the Valar_, they were strong, and all she could think about was how Boromir's horn had not sounded a fourth time. She knew what Elladan would say: that perhaps it meant that Boromir was out of trouble, but she also knew what Elrohir would say: that perhaps it meant that Boromir was in even more trouble.

When Gimli and Legolas were finally able to fight their way through to her, they stood on either side of her, Gimli chopping at whatever came up behind her and Legolas slicing through whatever was before her, and soon enough, all that remained was a wide ring of bodies around them. Flies were already beginning to buzz about the dead flesh.

Legolas wiped his daggers off on a bit of grass and sheathed them, glancing at Miraleth out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't shaking, her eyes weren't crying, her lips weren't trembling, but her face was just the slightest shade paler than normal and she didn't say anything—only sheathed her blades quietly and took in the scene around her with such an air of solemnity, Legolas almost didn't recognize her. He kept his gaze on her face, trying to find a bit of brightness in her light eyes. She should never have left Imladris.

"You must have really done something, eh lass?" Gimli chuckled, yanking his axe out of an orc's skull. "A death order all to yourself. Saruman sure has it out for you."

Miraleth shook her head, her solemn reverie broken, and turned to find a clear path out of the ring of bodies. "We are protecting Frodo, Gimli, Saruman has it out for all of us."

"But—"

Legolas none too lightly hit Gimli on the shoulder, giving him a meaningful stare as he passed to follow Miraleth. "We should find Aragorn and Boromir before heading back to shore," he said loudly, hoping to get Miraleth's mind off the startling truth Gimli had spoken.

* * *

Miraleth almost ran into Legolas when he slowed to a stop unexpectedly. At first she thought perhaps it was so that he could step between the slews of bodies slain on the ground, but when she turned her gaze up to look for two laughing men joking about how many Uruk-hai each of them had killed, she saw only one, crouched over the other on the ground.

Her heartbeat seemed to slow in her chest and her feet stopped moving forward. Aragorn's shoulders were shaking as he hunched over Boromir, who clutched his sword to his chest with one hand and had a handful of Aragorn's tunic clenched in the other. Three long, dark arrows protruded from his torso, and she could see his chest rattling with every breath. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"I would have followed you, my brother," Boromir struggled to speak.

Legolas turned away from the scene, his eyes downcast. "Miraleth…" He put a hand on her shoulder to guide her away as well, but Miraleth shrugged him off, her eyes never straying from Boromir. The words being shared between the two men across the clearing were not meant for her ears, but she could not stop herself.

"My captain." Boromir's breath came quicker now in shallow rasps of air. "My _kin."_ It did not happen slowly, or dramatically. Boromir did not spill his deepest secrets to Aragorn with his dying breath or make any last requests. He did not cry, or shake in fear, or rage against the inevitability of his fate. Perhaps he did not even know it was coming when it did. One moment he was clutching at Aragorn, his chest heaving, and the next, he was still.

Goosebumps rose on Miraleth's arms as something cold washed over her, but she could not bring herself to rub them away. She was not quite sure she could move, with her eyes still stuck on Boromir's. The spark that lit them was gone and there was a dull film of _emptiness_—Miraleth could think of no other way to describe it—over his eyes.

She had not seen someone die in many years, and seeing Boromir succumb now was a cruel awakening.

And still she could not turn away.

She felt as if they had been living a fantasy up until now, ambling along towards the Black Gate, laughing and joking (only occasionally arguing) at the stops in between and running through some orc on the way. But the fantasy was over now—Boromir was dead.

"Be at peace, son of Gondor." She could hear Aragorn's whisper from across the clearing, soft and somber. Aragorn pressed a kiss to Boromir's forehead and moved a hand over his face. When his hand left again, Boromir's eyes were closed.

Miraleth heard a heavy breath and a rustle in the leaves behind her, but she did not turn to look at Gimli, who leaned on his axe and murmured a prayer in some gruff Dwarvish tongue. Legolas would pray later, she knew. She would pray with him so that Boromir might know peace after his passing.

Aragorn stood, his back to them and his gaze still on Boromir's face. "They will look for his coming from the White Tower," Aragorn murmured. His voice was quiet still and it was heavy with sorrow, but they could hear him as if he stood just before them. "But he will not return."

Aragorn and Legolas carried Boromir's body back to their campsite on the shore. The journey was silent aside from the rustle of leaves and snaps of twigs under their feet. Miraleth brushed a tree trunk with her palm and sighed with the quiet breeze that whispered through the branches above their heads. "The trees are grieving," she told Gimli, who walked alongside her.

They lay Boromir's body in one of the rowboats with his sword and his shield—an honorable sending-off for an honorable soldier, Aragorn said. They pulled the arrows from his torso and wiped the blood from his face the best they could, and Legolas and Miraleth prayed over him. Boromir belonged to the race of Men, but they prayed that the Valar would take pity. After all, Boromir was courageous in the end. With one last look, they pushed the rowboat off from the shore, and watched Boromir, son of Denethor and Man of Gondor, go over the roaring falls.

The campsite remained silent, and in the silence, Miraleth's brow furrowed. The silence missed something—the small voices she had grown so accustomed to over the weeks. She turned to find her little hobbits, but frowned when they were not where she had left them. She turned to look over her shoulder at the other end of the campsite, and then spun around, and again, searching for a glimpse of Merry's red hair, or Frodo's dark curls. "Merry? Pippin?" She called. "Frodo?" She spun again. "Sam!"

She turned to Aragorn, but he was already looking at her, his eyes sad.

"Aragorn," she sputtered. She tried to say something about the hobbits, but her lips would not speak against the look on his face.

He looked away, out towards the river. "They took Merry and Pippin. They had orders from Saruman to take the hobbits."

Miraleth stared at him, a billion things running through her mind, the foremost thought being that Saruman did not want all the hobbits—he only wanted the one. Frodo. He only wanted whichever one possessed the Ring. But suddenly all the air was gone from her chest and the anger was gone from her veins. She remained quiet—there was nothing she could say. She was tired.

"What about Frodo? Sam?" Legolas' voice was heated. He was angrier than she was.

Aragorn pursed his lips and was quiet for a moment longer. "Safer than Merry and Pippin, I hope. I told Frodo to run, to cross the river. Sam probably went with him." Gimli heard the unspoken message in Aragorn's words, and crouched down to sit on a nearby rock, his eyes faraway.

But Legolas only ran to drag the remaining rowboat from the trees. "Then what are we waiting for?!" He demanded, dragging the boat across the rocky shore alone.

Miraleth reached for Aragorn's hand.

"Hurry!" Legolas pushed the boat towards the water, the water lapping at his ankles, too occupied with trying to get the boat into the river to notice the way Gimli simply sat and stared at him in silence.

Aragorn slipped his hand around Miraleth's and watched her downcast eyes, pushing all thoughts of Frodo to the front of his mind and inviting her to take whatever he had to offer.

"_I would have gone with you to the very end._"

"Legolas," Miraleth said softly, dropping Aragorn's hand.

"They will have reached the eastern shore," Legolas continued, unhearing, scrambling up the shore to grab the bedrolls and throw them into the rowboat.

_"The very end, into the very fires of Mordor."_

"Legolas," she called a bit louder. Legolas finally glanced over at Miraleth and his two other remaining companions and stopped, his shoulders relaxing and his arms falling to his sides after taking in their faces. Aragorn was calmly, quietly, readjusting the gauntlets on his forearm, and Gimli only watched him, patiently and solemnly. Miraleth gazed at him from Aragorn's side. She sighed. "Legolas, please."

"But Frodo—"

"_Iesten._"

The campsite was quiet, the rowboat left half-forgotten in the water. Legolas took a few steps back onto solid ground and turned to look to the other shore. Miraleth followed his gaze. Aragorn and Gimli would not be able to see them, but she and Legolas could just see the backs of Frodo and Sam retreating through the trees.

Legolas released the slightest breath in resignation. "You mean not to follow them." It was a statement, not a question, and he stared at Aragorn, a thousand questions in the lines of his face.

Aragorn had busied himself by wiping at his bloodied dagger with a spare patch of fabric he'd found in Merry's pack. "Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," he said.

"Then it has all been in vain." Gimli pulled himself up from his rock and absentmindedly plodded towards Aragorn and Miraleth. "The Fellowship has failed."

Legolas had wandered up to them as well, his eyes cloudy with doubt and heavy with thought. Aragorn tried to catch them as he put one hand on Gimli's shoulder and the other on Miraleth's back, whose eyes flickered at the movement. "Not if we hold true to each other," Aragorn countered, his voice low. "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left." He pushed away and strode over to the weapons he had unstrapped from his waist for a bit. "Leave all that can be spared behind," he ordered, strapping his sword back on and resheathing the dagger he'd been wiping at. "We travel light." A suddenly rejuvenated smile grew on Aragorn's lips and his eyes sparkled. "Let's hunt some orc."

Legolas, Gimli, and Miraleth exchanged glances as Aragorn turned and all but disappeared, running, into the woods. An excited growl started in Gimli's throat, and he shook his axe in the air and yelled his agreement, laughing, grinning, his eyes crinkling as he ran after Aragorn.

Legolas started forward, grinning as well, but stopped when Miraleth did not immediately follow. He met her eyes.

A small smile was curved on her lips in half-relinquishment of her sorrow over the events of the day. It was a tired smile. A bitter smile. But it was a smile nonetheless, and Legolas was happy to see it. Something resembling a chuckle burst from her lips. "So we are going to seek out the enemy now?" She shook her head. "I feel like it would be safer for me just to return to Imladris. My father would keep me safe there, despite whatever he might think. Elrohir and Elladan, too. I would be…safe." _Safe._ The concept was strange to think about now, after the past weeks. The two were quiet, contemplating her words.

"If you wish to return to Imladris…I will take you there." Legolas said. "If you wish to be safe, I would see it done, regardless." _Regardless of anything._

But Miraleth just looked at him. She did not speak. She just looked at him until the same small smile graced her lips again. "I would miss Gimli, I think."

Legolas was the first to begin to laugh, quietly at first, and then more easily when Miraleth began to chuckle. The laughter felt familiar, and even though it was misplaced on this desolate shoreline and so soon after the death of a comrade and friend, the familiarity of it was comforting. Their laughter died down to simple smiles after some moments, and Legolas stepped forward to hold Miraleth's face in his hands. A spark of sunlight lit her eyes again and a rosy tint colored her cheeks. This was the Miraleth he knew. Celebratory, joyous, laughing Miraleth. None of this solemnity or sorrow that had lingered with her like a shadow.

"We should catch up before Aragorn and Gimli leave us behind," Legolas said, his eyes sparkling, turning and darting away. He heard Miraleth start after him, and then they were running, racing through the wood with the wind and falling autumn leaves, following the enthused victory yells of Gimli and the rustle of Aragorn's clothes as they ran ahead of them, and for a moment, nothing else quite mattered to them.

* * *

_Iesten—_please

**A/N: You know how I love those reviews. **

**P.S. A warning-I have hit a complete block in the next chapter, so don't expect anything too soon! (Also I am open to any and all suggestions about the storyline. Feel free to direct me.)**


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